


New Blood

by artemisgirl



Series: New Blood [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: BAMF Hermione Granger, F/F, F/M, Gen, Grey!Hermione, Hermione Granger-centric, Ritual Magic, Slytherin Hermione Granger, Slytherin!Hermione - Freeform, coven - Freeform, coven magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-07
Updated: 2020-12-07
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:28:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 65
Words: 117,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27646184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/artemisgirl/pseuds/artemisgirl
Summary: Sorted into Slytherin with the whisper of prophecy around her, Hermione refuses to bow down to the blood prejudices that poison the wizarding world. Carving her own path forward, Hermione chooses to make her own destiny, not as a Muggleborn, a halfblood, or as a pureblood... but as a New Blood, and everything the mysterious term means.((Short chapters, done scene by scene))
Series: New Blood [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2045742
Comments: 58
Kudos: 226
Collections: Fics_I_Sneak_Into_The_Kitchen_To_Eat_At_3_AM, Pensieve





	1. The Sorting

**Author's Note:**

> This work is part of a massive larger work that spans all seven books. Book 1 and Book 2 are currently completed and uploaded on FFN; Book 3 is currently underway. Works will be uploaded en masse to Ao3 after they are completed as I find time.
> 
> All illustrations in this fic are done by Ivar Yves, who is fantastic and fabulous and amazing. Check out her work at https://www.instagram.com/IvarYves/! :Db

"Granger, Hermione!"

Hermione Granger walked to the front of the Hall with every bit of confidence she could muster, determined to stay calm despite the entire school watching her. The enchanted ceiling of the Great Hall opened up into the sky above her, and she felt very, very small. There was something mystical about this ritual, despite the mundane appearance of the hat, and her heart was in her throat as she approached the stool. She sat down, and with a deep breath, settled the hat on her head.

 _Oh ho_ , the Sorting Hat chuckled into her head. _What do we have here? You're a mixed bag, to be certain. Clever, very clever, and brave, to be sure. But this longing… this_ _ **ambition**_ _…_

 _Slytherin_ , Hermione told the hat silently. _I want to go to Slytherin._

 _Slytherin?_ the hat mused. _Your cunning and ambition would fit well there, to be sure. You would face prejudice there, though. Such prejudice…_

 _I am New Blood_ , Hermione told the hat determinedly. _I can handle it._

 _New Blood?_ the hat queried. _…why, look at that. You_ _ **are**_ _New Blood. But your journey will not be an easy one._

Even though she'd been called the term before, it was still a jolt to hear it confirmed. She'd almost wondered if she'd made the whole thing up after all.

 _Nothing worth fighting for is ever easy,_ Hermione countered. _I want to make Granger a powerful name up there with the rest of them._

 _Well, if nothing else, your ambition will find you in good company._ The hat seemed almost amused. _So if you insist…_

"Slytherin!"

Hermione hopped off the stool to the green table's applause, ignoring the scattered boos. She sat down next to Tracey Davis, who was next to Millicent Bulstrode – both already newly-sorted Slytherins. She offered both of them a smile, and she was gratified to see at least Tracey tentatively offer it back.

Greengrass, Daphne quickly followed Hermione, sitting down across from the other three girls with a dismissive sniff. Hermione watched Tracey's face fall slightly before she quickly schooled her features into a mask, and Hermione made a mental note.

 _Daphne's a bigot_ , she thought to herself. _No real surprise there – she's on that special list_.

Nott, Theodore joined the table, sitting next to Daphne, and Malfoy, Draco sat next to him. Parkinson, Pansy took her seat next to Draco, and Hermione was pleased when the last sorted (Zabini, Blaise) took a seat next to her, flashing her a smile. She was a bit disappointed none of the boys she'd met on the train made it into Slytherin (all three going to Gryffindor), but she'd be sure to catch up with them after classes.

The feast began, and Hermione did her best not to betray her surprise as food appeared on the tables. She served herself with her best manners, and as conversation began, carefully listened in.

"Weren't there two others?" Daphne asked, glancing down the table. "I counted ten sorted into Slytherin, not eight."

Blaise snickered, and Draco shot him a dark look.

"Goyle and Crabbe are sitting at the head with the prefects," Draco explained. "They got told off for fighting on the train."

Conversation turned toward everyone's hopes for the school year. Hermione was glad to see at least some of her classmates were taking their studies seriously – the boys she'd met on the train hadn't even opened their textbooks yet. Draco was eager for Potions, Theo was looking forward to Charms, and when Hermione offered that she was excited for Transfiguration, Theo had looked pleased and Draco had given her an approving nod.

"Transfiguration is challenging, but incredibly useful," Theo told her. "Be careful of the instructor, though – Professor McGonagall chooses favorites, and she favors her own house over the others."

"Her house?" Hermione questioned.

"Gryffindor," Draco said with a sneer. He gestured to the far table, with the students clad in red and gold. "Gryffindors and Slytherins don't get along, so be prepared for her to hate us all on sight."

"My mum said it's tradition for the Gryffindors to hate us," Tracey piped up. She offered Hermione a grin. "They think Slytherin is full of Dark wizards, and they all fancy themselves heroes. I wouldn't worry about it, though – it's not like a Gryffindor will ever be able to get the drop on a Slytherin."

"Slytherins stick together," nodded Theo. "We take care of our own."

Pansy glanced at Tracey, her pug nose sniffing in derision.

"And what did your Dad say?" she said, her tone condescending. "Did he even know what Hogwarts was?"

Tracey fell silent, her eyes dropping to the plate. Hermione felt a flash of rage towards Pansy. Breathing steadily, she tried to keep her cool.

"And what are you?" Pansy said to Hermione, sneering. "Half? Quarter? Muggle?"

Hermione raised her chin, looking down at Pansy with as much contempt as she could muster.

"I'm New Blood, thank you very much," she informed Pansy.

Pansy, whose mouth had been half-opened with a prepared retort, paused.

"…new blood?" she questioned suspiciously. She glanced down the table quickly, then back to Hermione. "That's not a thing. You're lying."

Hermione sniffed with as much derision as Pansy had. "If the Parkinsons haven't taught their daughter about New Blood, that's hardly a reflection on _me._ "

Tracey and Daphne both snickered, and even Theo cracked a smile. Hermione was pleased to see Pansy's face flush with anger, but Pansy tossed her head and turned to Draco, asking if he planned on trying out for the Quidditch team.

As conversation gradually settled, becoming less confrontational and more casual once again, Tracey turned to Hermione, quizzical.

"New Blood?" she asked.

Hermione shrugged, nodding.

"A Seer told me herself," she said. "Which, of course, meant Slytherin was the only place for me."

Tracey nodded along slowly like she understood, but dropped the matter to quiz Millicent about her summer quickly enough.

After dinner, one of the Slytherin prefects called them all around to follow her to their dormitory. Hermione was mildly surprised to see that instead of up the stairs like the other houses, they were headed _down_. She hadn't thought the rumors of Slytherin House living in the dungeons were _true_.

After leading them through the corridors and deeper into the castle, the prefect paused in front of a perfectly normal-looking stretch of wall, raising an eyebrow to wait for everyone to catch up.

 _"Viper,"_ she said, and Hermione nearly jumped as the wall suddenly opened.

The prefect led them into a large, low room bedecked in green and black. There were tables scattered around on which to do homework, large plush chairs and couches around low tables, and hanging lamps that gave off a sort of bright, inoffensive green glow.

"Alright. Listen up." The prefect clapped her hands, and the murmuring died down. "My name is Jade Rince, and I'm a prefect. Other Slytherin prefects didn't draw the short straw, so they didn't have to help you all down here, but you can recognize them by their badges. All prefects wear a badge like this."

She tugged at the silver shield on her robes, before looking back up at them.

"Dormitories are off to the left – girls on the left, boys on the right. As first years, you'll be the first floor you come to. Your things have already been brought up, so there are just a couple things left to go over."

She fixed them with a sharp look, and Hermione saw Tracey flinch.

"You're in Slytherin house. That means you're in the best house," Jade said. "We're the house of cunning, of creativity, and of ambition. We have the drive to go as far as we want and reach our goals, and our goals are _always_ higher than those of the other houses. We usually win both the House Cup and the Quidditch Cup, and I expect this tradition to continue." She gave them another significant look.

 _Right – win House Cup and Quidditch Cup._ Hermione made a mental note. _Got it._

"Because of this, the other houses generally don't like us," Jade said, sniffing. "This is why the first rule of Slytherin is the most important – Rule #1: _Slytherins stick together_."

"Slytherins stick together," they all murmured back. Jade nodded satisfactorily.

"A Slytherin is _always_ better than a student of another house," she said, tossing back her hair. "The other houses, though subconsciously, _know_ this, and they will resent you for it. Conflicts with other students are to be expected. Because of this, the second rule is also very important – Rule #2: _Don't get caught._ "

Hermione shared an amused look with Tracey, and, to her surprise, Blaise Zabini, who was shooting her a mischievous smile.

"So long as you don't get caught and don't leave proof behind, our Head of House, Professor Snape, will protect you from allegations from another student," Jade said. "He derives delight from it, but don't push him too far – it's better to remain _completely_ unseen, so there's not even a student accusation to deal with."

Hermione blinked. Jade was basically giving them free reign to retaliate against other students who bullied them. It was… a _new_ approach to bullying, to be sure. At her old schools, she'd always been encouraged to report any bullying activities to a teacher, who would handle it. The teachers never actually _did_ handle it properly, and telling a teacher often made the problem worse, but the expectation had been there – tell an authority figure, who would put a stop to it.

Here, Slytherins were expected to take care of problems and handle any such issues themselves. Hermione hid a small smile, looking down at her wand. While that kind of approach would never have worked at a Muggle school, where physical size was largely what determined the winner of an altercation, here at Hogwarts, everyone had _wands_. Size wouldn't matter – your magical skill would.

And Hermione intended to be the _best_ witch Hogwarts had ever seen.

"One more," Jade said. "Rule #3 – Slytherins are _the best_. Whatever it takes."

She gave them a fierce look, and they cowered as a group.

"Slytherin takes _pride_ in being the best. It takes work, it takes networking, it takes cunning, it takes cleverness. Whatever your goal, whatever it takes, you _reach_ it. Slytherins don't fail – they adapt, they re-evaluate, and they _get_ what they want."

Hermione saw Pansy's eyes gleam as she looked over at Draco, who was looking at Jade, his own eyes hungry with ambition. Hermione resisted the urge to roll her own eyes – it would figure that Pansy's highest goal was to latch onto a boy.

"I'm a prefect," Jade told them. She tossed her hair. "In two years, I will be Head Girl. I will beat out all the other girls for the position, because _I want it._ And I will stop at _nothing_ to achieve my goal."

She looked at them with a cross between pride and determination, and Hermione felt inspired herself, just looking at her. Hermione smiled up at her without realizing it, and to her surprised, Jade gave her a small smile back, before seeming to shake herself out of her moment.

"All right – that's the basics. Go ahead up to your dorms and get your things set up, and _try_ to get some sleep tonight if you can. Be down here for breakfast at seven sharp – the prefects will lead you up to breakfast. Do _not_ try to get to the Great Hall on your own." She gave them a smirk. "Otherwise, we will find your lost skeleton years later. Do _not_ try on your own."

She dismissed them, and they all scrambled to their dorms.

Hermione reached the dorm second, right after Pansy. The beds were arranged in a semi-circle, and with a screech, Pansy threw herself on the bed closest to the door, yelling, "This one's mine!"

Hermione quickly took the one the furthest from Pansy, entirely opposite, and the one closest to the bathroom door. As the others filtered in, Daphne took the one next to Pansy, Tracey took the one next to Hermione, and Millicent took the one that was left, dead in the middle. The girls all looked around, quietly judging that this arrangement was okay. Hermione felt a sense of relief at everyone's quiet approval of the sleeping arrangement – she hadn't wanted to have to fight for her bed.

Light conversation broke out as the girls arranged their things. Hermione's night stand had an intricate green stained-glass lamp and doubled as a small bookcase, and she put the books she thought she'd use the most on its shelves, as well as a couple favorites to fall asleep reading. Tracey was putting her hairbrush on her own nightstand, and Hermione was unsurprised to see Pansy chatting with Daphne and casting snide looks across the room, entirely unconcerned with arranging her things.

"Granger," she said suddenly.

Here it was.

Mentally gearing herself up, Hermione looked up.

"Yes?" she asked.

Pansy smiled sweetly, and Hermione nearly snorted. It was so overly saccharine and fake that she doubted such a smile would fool anyone.

"What did you say you were, back in the Great Hall?" she asked. "I've never heard of it, so perhaps you wouldn't mind explaining it to me?"

Hermione straightened her shoulders, putting a proud expression on her face.

"I'm New Blood," she said. "Judged so by both a Seer and the Sorting Hat."

Pansy and Daphne shared a look. Daphne looked mildly confused and intrigued, while Pansy looked disbelieving.

"But what does that _mean_ , 'New Blood'?" Pansy insisted.

Hermione took a deep breath.

"It means that my blood is destined to be the start of a new Great House," she told her, tossing her hair back. "It means that my magic was gifted to me by Magic itself, and isn't a spontaneous cropping up of magic through a dormant squib line."

"You were gifted your magic?" Tracey asked, her eyes wide.

"I was gifted with my magic _directly_ ," Hermione corrected. "Magic expects great things of me, for me to found a new Great House, and Magic has gifted me with the ability to use it more easily than others."

"Wait – not a squib line," Pansy said. "That means you grew up with _Muggles?_ "

Hermione didn't flinch, her nose in the air. "I did."

Pansy laughed incredulously.

"So you're just a Muggleborn," she denounced, laughing. "One with delusions of greatness, but a Muggleborn nonetheless."

Pansy exchanged a smirk with Daphne, but Hermione remained carefully unfazed.

"Muggleborns are born from squib lines," she informed her. "Squib lines that Pureblood houses have long since lost track of, but from connections to magical blood nonetheless. I am New Blood – a spontaneous outcropping of magic with no previous connection to magic at all."

Pansy rolled her eyes, and Hermione shrugged.

"Don't believe me if you want, but you'll see," Hermione promised. "All great houses had to have been founded somewhere, didn't they? Where did the founding Parkinson get _his_ magic? All great houses start with a New Blood somewhere."

Pansy laughed, but Hermione could tell that she'd managed to plant a seed inside her – Pansy was somewhat unsure.

"Anyway, let's all get to bed," Tracey suggested, her eyes darting from Hermione to Pansy to Hermione again. "We have class in the morning, and the last thing we want to do is not be at our best. Jade would kill us on our first day."

With murmurs of agreement, they all settled in to go to sleep, clicking their lamps out one by one.

As the others began to succumb to sleep, Hermione remained awake, her eyes staring up at the draped canopy of her four-poster bed.

She'd managed her first challenge – planting the seed with the other girls that she wasn't a Muggleborn. Even just a seed, a sprout of doubt, could blossom into full-blown belief if she managed to pull off what she was hoping to.

Hermione had read about the prejudice against Muggleborns. And she'd be damned if she became a witch just to hit a glass ceiling over and over again.


	2. Magic

_September 19, 1990 - Nearly one year prior_

_._

_._

"A witch?"

The tall, stern woman nodded again, and Hermione felt a current of excitement run up her spine. She _was_ different. She hadn't just been imagining it.

"What is a witch?" Hermione asked the woman.

The woman pushed her square glasses up her nose. "A witch, young lady, is a woman who can perform magic."

"Yes, but what _kind_ of magic?" Hermione pressed. "In some books, witches can cure sickness with herbs. In some, they can cast curses. In other ones, they dance naked under moonlight. In still others, they talk to devils and do evil things during the night."

The tall woman softened, her pursed lips relaxing slightly.

"I daresay witches do many of those things, though not the talking-to-devils part," she said, eyes flickering with amusement. "And I've never met a witch that admitted to dancing naked, let alone outside."

Hermione turned to her parents, practically bouncing with excitement. They both looked skeptical.

"And there's a school for this?" her father asked. "Where Hermione will learn to turn into a cat too?"

"If she works very hard, she might," the woman confirmed, and Hermione let out a small squeal of excitement, dancing around.

"Mum, Dad, you _have_ to let me go!" she exclaimed. "This is why those kids always ended up getting hurt – I'm _magic_ , and I was protecting myself!"

Her parents exchanged a meaningful look, but Hermione was too excited to care. Her parents had been discussing moving her into a new school again already, there had been so many incidents. They'd give in eventually. She knew they would.

"Professor McGonagall, what else will I learn?" she asked. "Are there spell books? Are there _grimoires?_ Is there an acceptance ritual? Do I join a coven?"

Professor McGonagall looked like she was trying not to laugh.

"There are spell books, yes," she told her. "First Year students will take Transfiguration, which I teach, as well as Charms, Herbology, Astronomy, Potions, and Defense Against the Dark Arts."

"Dark Arts?" Hermione's father suddenly looked alarmed.

Professor McGonagall nodded, unfazed.

"There are magical creatures that you could never imagine that witches and wizards might encounter, and defense against them is crucial," she said, her voice firm. "There is also the matter of self-defense. Just as non-magical people have criminals and killers, so does the wizarding world. We have the equivalent of your police force to chase them and hunt them down, but knowing self-defense will only help a student as they go out into the world."

Hermione's mother was nodding slowly.

"My university required a basic self-defense course," she said. "This doesn't sound too different."

Hermione didn't _care_. She was going to learn magic-!

"Can I go now?" Hermione asked, bouncing. "Do I get to go now?"

Professor McGonagall looked down at her fondly.

"Unfortunately, your term has yet to start," she told her. "I have brought your acceptance letter, however, and I can take you to Diagon Alley to get your school supplies early, if you'd like."

She handed Hermione a letter, which the girl opened with reverent fingers, almost shaking.

* * *

HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY

Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore

(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock,  
Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)

Dear Ms. Granger,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.   
Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.

Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July.  
  


Yours sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall  
Deputy Headmistress

* * *

Hermione paused.

"You communicate by owl?" she asked, and the woman nodded. Hermione went back to reading, before slowly gazing up at the tall woman with a look of dawning horror.

"September 1st?" she asked, panic slowly creeping into her voice. " _September first?_ But – but today is September 19th!"

Professor McGonagall nodded. "Term always begins on the first of September."

"But- but then _I've missed it!_ " Hermione clutched her letter, horrified. "I'll- I'll be three whole weeks behind! Everyone else will be so far ahead of me already! I'll have to do loads of make-up work and-"

"On the contrary, Miss Granger, you are getting your letter quite _early_." She fixed Hermione with a look. "Students begin Hogwarts when they are eleven years of age, and not a moment before. _Your_ year of Hogwarts will begin in just shy of a full year."

Hope blossomed in Hermione's heart.

"So- so then I'm _not_ behind," she said slowly. "I can get my school books and start practicing magic now, right?"

McGonagall hesitated.

"It is highly unusual to give a Muggleborn student her letter so far in advance of their school year beginning," she said slowly. "It is usually done the summer prior to the start of term. However…" She looked uncomfortable.

"However?" Hermione prompted.

"…The Ministry of Magic, in light of your most recent Accidental Magic use, has judged that if you were made aware of your magic, you might be able to stem such accidents, so the Obliviation Team would not have quite so much work to do," she said, watching Hermione.

Hermione processed what had just been said.

"…so I get to learn about magic early because I stuck all the bullies together?" she asked.

"You get to learn about magic early because the Ministry deems a ten-year-old child who is able to spontaneously fuse the legs of three people into one single leg, and then _break_ that leg while she is running away as a threat," McGonagall said firmly. "That much magic to use uncontrolled, without a wand, is impressive indeed, but _dangerous_ to have running around. I will take you to get your things, help you get set up with a small study station, and we will give you a proper place to channel your magic into."

Hermione beamed up at Professor McGonagall, who offered her a small smile back. Even Hermione's parents were smiling now, seemingly relieved that Hermione's 'incidents' now had a solution.

Hermione was going to be a witch!


	3. The Bet

Breakfast the next morning was an odd affair for Hermione.

It was clear from the looks she was getting that Pansy had spread the story that she was claiming to be New Blood, not a Muggleborn. Draco was giving her subtle glances all through breakfast, and Theo Nott was openly appraising her, as if she were an antique.

Hermione, following the edict of "fake it 'til you make it", chatted with Tracy and Millicent about their schedule. Transfiguration and Defense against the Dark Arts were on the schedule for today, and Millicent was _not_ pleased with it.

"Starting the week off with Transfiguration?" she groaned. "It's one of the hardest classes. That'll be _great_."

"One of the hardest?" Hermione questioned, and Tracey nodded vigorously.

"Transfiguration has all these tiny wand movements, and each one means something different, plus you have to hold the transfiguration in your head as you do it… it's really hard," she said. "It's one of the most useful parts of magic, right after Charms, but only if you're _good_ at it, and it's hard to get good at it."

"Hey, Granger," Theo said suddenly. Hermione turned, raising an eyebrow.

"I bet I can master the first assignment in Transfiguration before you can," he said, giving her a challenging grin. Hermione felt a thrill as her eyes widened – finally, the first chance to prove herself. But was she ready?

"You're on," she bet, giving him a grin back. "What're the stakes?"

"If I win, you have to be my House Elf for a week," he told her. His grin was more malicious now. "You'll have to obey every order I make, and wear the outfit, too."

Draco and Blaise were sniggering now, sharing a mean look. Hermione hid her confusion. _House Elf…?_

"And if I win, you have to be my bodyguard and personal assistant for the week," she retaliated. "Carry my books, throw yourself in front of me to intercept deadly curses, that sort of thing."

Theo looked somewhat alarmed that she expected deadly curses to be thrown at her already, while Tracey and Millicent were giggling. With a glance back at his friends, Theo nodded.

"Deal," he said, sticking out his hand.

Hermione took it and shook, her eyes flashing with anticipation.

"Deal."

* * *

Professor McGonagall taught Transfiguration, Hermione had remembered, and she happily sat in the front row, ready to learn. McGonagall had been a force at her parents' home when introducing her to magic, and Hermione didn't think she'd ever be able to look on the woman with anything but gratitude and respect, even though she was the head of a rival house.

McGonagall, for her part, nodded briefly at her when she entered, though it could have been just a nod to the students at large. Hermione made sure her things were ready. She was sitting in the front with Tracey and Millicent to her left, though they'd complained when she'd dragged them to the front row. Slytherin shared this class with the Ravenclaws, and a boy called Anthony Goldstein was sitting to her right.

McGonagall launched into her lecture with no nonsense. After a brief definition of Transfiguration, she promptly turned her desk into a pig and back, garnering awed gasps from the crowd, including Hermione.

The rest of the class, however, was highly technical. She introduced the simple wand movements necessary for "basic" level transfigurations, and there were _sixteen_ of them. Hermione took meticulous notes, though she knew there was a reference chart in the back of her book. Sketching out the movement of McGonagall's wand as she demonstrated each gesture was a little easier to follow than the static ink-drawn pictures in the book, and she hoped it might help her more.

After demonstrating all the movements and explaining the right mindset necessary to complete a proper Transfiguration, she handed out matchsticks, and gave them their first assignment: turn the matchstick into a needle.

Hermione stared at the matchstick, almost aghast.

_This_ was their first assignment? _This?_

This was the example covered in the third chapter of the book!

_Please._

Knowing she needed to hurry to beat Theo, Hermione held the image of the matchstick transforming firmly in her head, wiggled her wand, and jabbed.

The matchstick transfigured into a needle.

Hermione smiled.

The needle was flawless. Hermione was pleased to see that she'd even managed to keep the eye of the needle big enough to fit a thread through it this time – that was the only part she'd struggled with when she'd practiced at home.

"Oh, Miss Granger-! Well done!"

Hermione looked up to Professor McGonagall standing over her. She picked up the needle and examined it, before dropping it back on the desk, where it made a soft _ting_ of metal.

"I have never seen a student succeed on this so quickly," she said, and Hermione thought there might be an undertone of pride in her voice. "Five points to Slytherin!"

A murmur ran throughout the class, and Hermione turned around in her seat to look at Theo, raising her eyebrows and shooting him an expectant look.

Theo was staring at her, his eyes huge.

Hermione blinked, feeling slightly uncomfortable.

Theo didn't look away, and Draco and Blaise next to him were also looking at her with darting glances, whispering to each other.

"That's enough," McGonagall commanded, and the classroom fell silent. "Back to your assignment – let's see who else can get it."

Hermione turned back around in her chair, feeling uneasy, but McGonagall gave her a small smile.

"Let's give you more of a challenge to work on, shall we?"

There was a _thwock_ as a large wooden dowel hit her desk, and Hermione looked up at McGonagall in surprise.

"Transfigure this into a lead pipe," McGonagall instructed. "The basics for the transfiguration are the same – wood to metal, a hole in it – though the exact structure is different. The size will be more of a challenge – you will need to draw on your power more than I expect you needed to with the needle."

Hermione looked at the dowel. It sat on her desk intimidatingly, and she looked back up at McGonagall, hesitant.

"You'll get extra credit and points for Slytherin if you succeed, but don't worry if you don't – it's meant to be a challenge for you to work on and eventually overcome," McGonagall said. "You've already earned full marks for this class."

McGonagall walked away to circle through the other students, correcting wand motions and offering advice, while Hermione looked at the dowel.

Draw on her power…?

Hermione wasn't quite sure what that meant.

Focusing on the dowel, Hermione envisioned it Transfiguring, squiggled her wand and jabbed.

Just as she expected, the dowel lay on her desk, unchanged.

A larger piece of wood was bound to be harder to change. Hermione opted to not focus so much on succeeding, now, as trying to understand the other part of McGonagall's statement.

It made sense, in a way. Presuming McGonagall had been talking about magical power, it made sense in a way for Hermione to have a certain amount of magical power inside her that the wand was channeling out through her. The matchstick to needle hadn't seemed to take much – it'd been so little that Hermione had barely noticed it. But the dowel…

Focusing, Hermione attempted the transfiguration again.

This time, she could feel it, almost – something flowing out of her, attempting to encompass the wooden dowel, but falling short, and flowing back into her through the wand. It all happened so fast, it was hard to tell… but she felt like that had to be it. It had to be what McGonagall was talking about.

Hermione bit her lip. How was she supposed to use _more_ power? Was there a way to push more out automatically?

Hermione continued experimenting, unaware of both Anthony and Tracey shooting her wide-eyed looks as they struggled with their own matchsticks.

It seemed, to Hermione, that the only way to get more power out of her was to _push_ it out. There was nothing in her Transfiguration book about it, and Hermione guessed that maybe the "power level" she could use would go up automatically, like a muscle, as she practiced.

Her eyes narrowed. If her magic reserves _were_ like a muscle, it was possible she could push them past their normal capability, just like an Olympian weightlifter in the heat of the moment.

Hermione raised her wand.

The bell rang a moment later, and the class around her got out of their seats, brushing by her as McGonagall assigned 6 inches on the basics of wood to metal transfiguration. Hermione blinked, coming back to herself, before hurriedly gathering up her things into her bag and leaving, trailing after the rest of her classmates.

As McGonagall went around the classroom, picking up the matchsticks, some of which students had managed to turn kind of a shiny silver, she stopped in front of Hermione's desk.

Slowly, as if someone was playing a joke on her, she reached forward and picked up the shiny pipe from Hermione's desk. As if in a dream, she dropped it.

It made a _dong_ that reverberated within it when it hit the desk, and McGonagall made a strangled noise, as if she didn't know whether to laugh or gasp.

Taking the lead pipe and setting it aside, McGonagall finally allowed a smile to escape.

"Fifty points to Slytherin," she murmured, "for beating my own record in this class."


	4. The Prophecy

_September 20, 1990 - One year prior_

.

.

Diagon Alley was a _feast_ for her eyes.

Professor McGonagall was being very patient and tolerant with her, even as Hermione bombarded her with questions.

"Self-stirring? Does that mean that there's a spoon that's enchanted to stir the cauldron, or does the cauldron itself have an enchantment on it that causes a whirlpool inside it so everything gets stirred up?"

"It means an enchanted stirring rod," McGonagall said, without showing a trace of weariness. "Come – we're at Gringotts, the Wizard Bank."

Hermione turned her eyes to the huge white marble building, her eyes scanning the windows of the doors to read the ominous warning placed there.

"That's… very direct," she mused aloud. "Muggle banks don't have any threats written on the doors like this. I wonder if they should…?"

McGonagall tugged her through the doors. The sheer size of the bank, the teller desk, and the sight of the odd creatures manning the desks nearly sent Hermione into a faint.

"Goblins," McGonagall murmured in an undertone. "Don't insult them."

" _Goblins…?_ "

McGonagall led her over to desk with a goblin, who looked down at her with a nasty look.

"I am Bloodthorne," he informed her. Hermione hesitated.

"Pleased to meet you, Bloodthorne," Hermione said, offering him a small bow, her mind scrambling for any sort of etiquette that might be appropriate here. "I am Hermione Granger. Pleased to meet you." She offered him a small, nervous smile. "I would like to change this Muggle money over to wizarding money, if it's not too much trouble…?"

The goblin looked down at her with a hard stare, before sitting back.

"No trouble at all," he told her, the nasty look on his face somewhat lessened. "Do you have bank notes or a check?"

Hermione scrambled to open her purse.

"Ah, a check. Is that alright?" She handed it over to Bloodthorne, who took it and examined it with a magnifying glass.

"It appears everything is in order," he told her. "Will you be wanting this in cash or placed in a vault?"

Hermione looked up at McGonagall, lost. "Ah… a 'vault'?"

"We will be needing to open a vault for Miss Granger today as well," McGonagall told the goblin, "but most of it in coin, if you please."

The goblin nodded. "Hand, please?"

Hermione reached over to him, and was surprised when instead of taking her thumbprint, he stabbed her with a small needle, drawing blood.

"Ow!"

"We need a blood sample to establish your vault," he told her. "Vaults are carried through family lines, and you are the first to establish your line."

Hermione looked at him curious. "Family lines…?"

Bloodthorne ignored her. "This check will get you 123 galleons and 6 sickles. We can open the vault by leaving the 20 galleons in it and give you the rest in coin. Is this acceptable?"

McGonagall opened her mouth to speak, when Hermione interrupted.

"I'm sorry to delay you, but can I see the exchange rate from galleons to pounds, please?"

Both Bloodthorne and McGonagall raised their eyebrows, but Bloodthorne wordlessly handed down a sheet of parchment for Hermione to look over.

Hermione squinted at the paper, searching for the information she was looking for. There weren't percentages noted – just how many pounds to the galleon the bank was currently offering.

"Professor, how much is a bottled drink in the Wizarding world?" she asked. "Or some other good that exists in both worlds?"

McGonagall considered. "A butterbeer is 2 sickles," she told her. "It'd be roughly equivalent to a beer at a muggle pub."

Hermione considered. "How many sickles to a galleon?"

"Seventeen."

Hermione considered, mentally scratching things out as she multiplied.

"…you're taking nearly twenty percent in the exchange!" she exclaimed. "That check is for 750 pounds – a perfect conversion would be roughly 150 galleons!"

The goblin sneered. "The price of doing business."

"That's ridiculous," Hermione insisted. "Standard exchange rates are 0.13!"

"Not in the wizarding world."

"I want at least 145 galleons," Hermione told him fiercely. "That's still nearly 5% pure profit for you."

Bloodthorne looked horrified. "I would _never_ -"

"It's just an exchange. Surely you'll make a profit over having me as a customer and using my account to hold water for your loans?"

Bloodthorne stopped short at that. His eyes narrowed suspiciously, a greedy glint sparking inside.

"…loans?"

Hermione's eyes widened.

"Do you… do you _literally_ just hoard piles of gold underground?" she said. She whirled around to face McGonagall. "Professor, how does this banking system work? I need to know what kind of-"

"Perhaps another day, Miss Granger," McGonagall said gently. "We have a lot we need to get done."

Hermione turned back to Bloodthorne, who was looking at her with a new respect in his eyes.

"Ten percent," he told her. "And you will come back to discuss this 'loan' business with me later, once you have settled into the wizarding world."

"Deal," Hermione said firmly, offering him her hand.

The goblin stared at her hand as if it were grossly offensive, and Hermione was afraid she'd made some horrible mistake, before the goblin grabbed her hand firmly and grinned.

He had a mouth full of very, very pointy teeth.

"Deal."

* * *

Flourish and Blotts was, by far, Hermione's favorite place in Diagon Alley.

There were so many _books_. It was incredible. And they were _spell books._

Well, some of them. Others looked like cookbooks. But still-!

Hermione barely restrained the urge to dance around in glee. Steadying herself to act in a normal manner, she set about finding her assigned textbooks.

Most of the textbooks were fairly easy to find – the store had a display in the back with what seemed to be standard textbooks for all the years. Hermione picked up her own, then, after a moment's hesitation, grabbed _The Standard Book of Spells_ for grades 2, 3, and 4 as well. _Intermediate Transfiguration_ went into her basket along with her assigned _A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration_ , and she grabbed _The Essential Defense Against the Dark Arts_ and _Defensive Magical Theory._ She took _Magical Drafts and Potions_ , _One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi,_ as well as _Book of Potions_ , and she grabbed _Perfecting your Potions_ from a nearby shelf to round out her collection, though it looked less like a textbook and more like a nonfiction guide intended for adults _._ As tempted as she was to grab more, Hermione knew that the others on the table looked a bit more advanced. She'd always be able to come back and get them later, right? It wasn't as if she wouldn't have access to buy spell books next year. She could come back whenever she wanted.

Hermione roamed around the store, looking for information on the wizarding world in general. She picked up a few history texts (one for ancient, one for 17th-20th centuries, and one for more recent history), as well as a couple on wizarding society in general. She was just considering which etiquette guide to get ( _The Finest of Fine Manners_ or _Pureblood Customs and Manners)_ when she was interrupted.

"You're New Blood."

Hermione turned to see a very pale blonde girl right behind her, standing almost too close to be appropriate. Her hair had an odd kink to it that made it sort of float around, and she was wearing earrings made of bottle caps.

Hermione stared.

"New Blood?" she repeated.

The girl nodded, and Hermione watched as the girl's eyes abruptly rolled back in her head. Her mouth opened, and her voice was not the airy, light tone she had used a moment ago.

" _The viper borne to Muggles shall be the New Blood to change the world  
By clearing the cluttered path with those who answer her call  
Whether gifted or claimed, true, faked, or false, pure magic unfurled,  
The she-serpent borne of teeth shall rise and triumph over them all."_

The girl's eyes swam before refocusing. She turned to face Hermione, who looked horrified.

"Did I do it again?" the girl sighed. "I'm trying to get better at channeling it through my conscious mind instead of subconscious. Did I at least get the New Blood part in?"

Wordlessly, Hermione nodded.

"Good," the girl said simply.

Hermione looked at the girl, who looked back at her, her eyes neutral.

"Are… are you quoting something?" Hermione said slowly.

The girl tilted her head.

"I don't think so," she said. "I mean, I'm not sure, because I don't remember what I said, but prophecies generally aren't quoted from something else. I've never heard of one being like that, at any rate."

"A- a _prophecy?"_ Hermione felt a sudden hand of terror squeezing around her heart. "You- you can see the future?"

The girl smiled. "Kind of?" she offered. "I can see bits and pieces of the most likely paths sometimes, but not entirely." She smiled at Hermione. "Don't worry – the future isn't predestined. You still have your free will."

Slowly, Hermione relaxed.

"I'm Hermione Granger," Hermione told the girl, offering her a hand. "I'm going to Hogwarts next year."

"I'm Luna Lovegood," the girl told her. She put something into Hermione's hand instead of shaking it. "I'll be in Hogwarts the year after you."

Hermione turned over the object Luna had put in her hand to see an ugly sort of crystallized flower. She looked up at Luna quizzically.

"To ward off humdingers," Luna said, nodding. "Keep it on you to keep them away."

"…Thanks," said Hermione, pocketing it. "I'll be sure to keep it nearby."

Luna beamed at Hermione, and Hermione smiled back slowly.

"Luna," Hermione said suddenly, an idea abruptly occurring. "Do you know what other books I might need to take with me to school that aren't on the book list?"

Luna paused.

"…I don't know specifically, but I can suggest things that might be important for someone who wants to change the world?" Luna ventured. "Here…"

By the time Luna and Hermione were done, Hermione had both books on etiquette, a book called _The Pureblood Directory_ , a couple more books on Magical Theory and History, a book on modern laws and another on how the Ministry of Magic worked, and, to her shock, a book called _The Call of the Dark_ , as well as one called _Grey_ , both of which looked… ominous.

"It's important to be well-rounded," Luna said, helping her carry her books up to the front. "That means knowing about good as well as evil." She flashed her a small smile. "Just don't get caught!"

The man at the counter dully counted up her books, and when the total was announced, Hermione was immediately glad she'd come here last – she'd used up nearly all of her remaining funds. She was glad she'd argued with the goblin – the last twenty galleons had made a difference.

As her books were bundled up, Hermione looked at Luna and paused.

"…here," she said.

Hermione took off her charm bracelet and put it on Luna's wrist. Luna held it up in front of her face, looking at it curiously.

"What is it?" she asked.

"It's… Muggle magic," Hermione told her. "Each charm represents something specific, and each will protect you or bless you." She showed them to Luna. "Right now, it has one for good luck, one for knowledge, and one for happiness. But you can get more, for whatever you want, out in the Muggle world."

Luna looked at Hermione and beamed. "I've never had Muggle magic before!" she said. "My Dad doesn't really ever venture out into the Muggle world, but I'll be sure to use your charms!"

"Hermione?"

"I have to go," Hermione told Luna, disappointed at hearing McGonagall's voice. She was excited to meet another witch her age, to learn what magical life might be like. "I'll- I'll see you in school?" she added.

Luna nodded, smiling. "In a couple years. We can be the best of friends."

Hermione's eyes widened, and she blinked rapidly, lest Luna see her tears.

She'd never had a friend at school before.

"Best of friends," Hermione told her, gripping her hands tightly, before grabbing her bags of books and hurrying out of the store. "Good-bye, Luna!"

"Good-bye, Lady Granger," Luna intoned, with a smile. "May Magic guide you as you follow your New Blood and found a Great House."

Hermione was confused at that, and as she leaned back to ask Luna another question, McGonagall pulled her back out onto the street, exclaiming at the number of books she'd purchased, and helping her fit them all into her new cauldron before they set off for home.

Hermione ran over Luna's words in her mind over and over and over.

_New Blood?_

What did that even _mean?_


	5. Defense

Defense was shared with the Hufflepuffs, and was, quite frankly, a joke.

Professor Quirrell couldn't stop stuttering, and as he instructed them, he seemed terrified of his own subject manner. His lecture was awful and hard to follow, and about halfway through, Hermione stopped taking notes.

Quirrell had already given them the wrong instructions for two of the jinxes in the book that Hermione had already practiced and seen work. If he didn't know what he was talking about, what good was his course?

Idly, Hermione looked at the syllabus he'd handed out, checking to see if attendance was a grading factor like it was in Transfiguration.

"Tell me if he says what the homework assignment is," Hermione whispered to Theo. "I'm not listening to this prattle if I don't have to."

Theo gave her an astonished look as Hermione opened the textbook, hid it underneath her desk, and began to read.

Hermione hid her smile. She had approached Theo sweetly after lunch and insisted he carry her books for her to their next class, reminding him to block any incoming curses along the way. Blaise and Tracey had laughed uproariously, while Draco had watched on with a curious expression. Theo had scowled while Pansy outright glared, but he'd thrust his arms out accommodatingly and escorted her to Defense like a perfect gentleman, to Hermione's deep satisfaction.

When the class ended, Hermione swept up her books and jotted down the homework assignment (6 inches on methods to repel vampires) and looked at Theo, who was looking at her with dread.

"I'd like to go to the library for the rest of the afternoon," she told him. "Carry my books there?"

Theo made a face, but obligingly gathered up her books.

Hermione enjoyed the looks of shock, confusion, and satisfaction that flickered across other students' faces as they caught sight of Theo escorting her to the library. Any attention she could get at this point that made people wonder about her, Hermione figured, would help lay the groundwork for people thinking she was 'special'.

"Theo," she said, as they continued up the staircases, "why was it such a shock to you when I transfigured the matchstick?

Theo gave her a look, but this one Hermione couldn't read.

"Two reasons," he said slowly, watching her reactions. "First, it's supposed to be a difficult assignment. It's a challenge, and it's what we'll still be working on next class, if the prefects were telling the truth. It usually takes the week for people to master."

Hermione's eyes widened. She hadn't realized that when Theo had made his challenge, he was thinking long-term, throughout the week. He'd probably planned to get ahead by working on it outside of class – not to achieve it first thing.

"Second," he said, his eyes holding hers, "is you're Muggleborn. You're not supposed to have strong magical power, at all."

Hermione scoffed. "First, I'm New Blood," she corrected. "Second, regardless of what I'm supposed to have, I do."

"That's the thing," Theo said, his expression unreadable. "It generally works like this: Purebloods are the strongest; their blood is pure, and their magic has been passed down undiluted for centuries. Next are halfbloods; with half Muggle blood, you can't expect them to be as strong as a pureblood, no matter how hard they try. Muggleborns are the weakest, of course – their magic is just a fluke, and they'll never reach the level of a proper witch or wizard."

"But you…" he cast his eyes over her, and Hermione fought the urge to flinch. "You mastered that challenge without a thought. It was like it was child's play to you – you didn't even hesitate. That's a kind of power that hasn't been seen in a while, even though it's just a first-year class."

Hermione gathered her nerve and looked at Theo directly.

"Maybe I'm telling the truth, then," she said, her eyes holding his. "Maybe when I say I'm New Blood, I'm not lying, like you all are so desperate to believe."

There was a poignant silence as she stared him down.

Theo broke eye contact first, looking away.

"Maybe so," he said, shoving her bag at her. "We're at the library. Am I dismissed?" He sneered.

Hermione grinned, and swept him a curtsey, or as best she could do in her school skirt.

"You're dismissed, Theodore," she said in her most regal voice. "I'll expect you at dinner to escort me back, of course, but otherwise, enjoy your free time."

Theo stalked away from the library, anger in his every move, and Hermione fought the urge to giggle as she went into the Hogwarts library, excited.


	6. The Hogwarts Express

_August 31, 1991_ \- _24 hours before the sorting ceremony_

.

.

When the summer was finally over, and the day finally came to pack up her things and get ready to go to King's Cross in the morning, Hermione couldn't contain her excitement as she ran around in a tizzy, making sure she had everything, double and triple-checking her list for all her books and supplies.

Her parents watched her from the sofa, her mother leaning against her father, one of his arms over her shoulder, holding her snug into his body. They both wore a nostalgic expression as they watched their daughter, fondness and love in their eyes.

"So what are you going to become now, if not the Prime Minister?" her father teased her. "A cat?"

"Dad!" Hermione objected. "A cat isn't a job!"

Her mother laughed.

"We're just curious, dear," she said, smiling. "What kind of jobs are there for fully-trained witches?"

" _Lots_ of things," Hermione said strongly. "There are so many I barely know where to start. I want to go to classes first and see what I like, and then narrow it down from there."

"You seem good at Transfiguration," her father remarked. "You've gotten the toothpick to turn into a needle."

Hermione scowled. "I still can't get the eye in it."

"It'll come," he dismissed. "What are some of these possibilities, Hermione?"

"Well, there are government posts, of course. They have someone like the Prime Minister – the Minister of Magic," Hermione explained. "So maybe that. There's also a governing legislature called the Wizengamot. It seems like it's mostly hereditary seats, so that might be harder."

"Would you like that?" her mother pushed. "Government work?"

"I have no idea," Hermione admitted. "I could become a Healer – a magical doctor." She sighed. "Maybe I'll just go on and get a mastery in something – it's like a PhD, but magical. And then I'll experiment with magic forever, and learn the limits of the universe…"

Her parents laughed.

"Well, so long as there are viable options, I suppose you have time to decide," her father said, grinning. "Be sure to write us once you're sorted, darling! We have a bet going on where you'll go."

Hermione looked up from putting her books away in her trunk, horrified. "You do?"

"We do," her mother confirmed, a smile playing around her lips. "And we won't tell you what houses we've bet on – it might influence where you go."

Hermione gave them a dirty look as she finished packing up her things, her parents laughing behind her.

* * *

Though she had been excited the previous night, now that she was standing on the platform, Hermione was nervous.

"I will miss you so, so much," she said, hugging her parents tightly. "I promise I'll write, and I promise I'll do well!"

Her mother stroked her hair fondly. "We have no worries about you doing well," she assured her. "Just… try to make friends there, too, love. Don't _just_ focus on your studies."

Hermione took a step back and took a deep breath, trying to settle herself. "Okay."

"And don't fuse anyone's legs together," her father reminded her.

"Dad!" Hermione's cheeks flamed.

He laughed.

"Have a good term," he told her, giving her a hug. "We'll see you at Christmas."

Hermione murmured her final goodbyes and turned to face the wall on the platform with her cart, steadying her heart. Putting utter faith in the magic, she strode forward strongly toward it, though she closed her eyes at the last moment, convinced she was about to crash.

She didn't. The sounds around her abruptly changed, and when she opened her eyes, there was a large train there, emblazoned with _The Hogwarts Express_.

She had done it.

Happily, Hermione set about getting her trolley onto the train so she could unload it. She had made her parents arrive purposefully early so she could get her bearings. It was heavier than she thought, and after fighting with it to get it up the ramp, she gave up and looked around for help.

"Hey! Hey, excuse me?"

The boy she called out to looked to be about her age, and was wandering around aimlessly on the platform, as if looking for something.

"Will you help me get my trunk onto the train?" she asked. "I can't quite get it myself."

The boy looked surprised at having been asked, but gamely came over, helping her lug it up the ramp.

"This is _heavy_ ," he said, gasping a bit. "What's _in_ here?"

"A lot of books," Hermione admitted. "I read a lot."

The boy offered her a shy smile.

"I like plants a lot," he said. "I'm looking forward to Herbology."

"Oh, you're a first year too?"

As they fought to get Hermione's trunk onto the train, Hermione learned that her new acquaintance was called Neville Longbottom, and was fairly clumsy, but very nice. He had accidentally lost his toad, Trevor, somewhere on the train when he was putting his own trunk on, and he was worried he had escaped onto the platform. He had grown up with magic, and he was from one of the Sacred 28 pureblood families. He was nothing like anyone else she had ever met, and she immediately decided that she wanted him for a friend.

"There!" she said, clapping her hands as they finally got the trunk settled. She turned to Neville and beamed. "Thank you!"

Neville blushed, rubbing his head. "It was nothing."

"Nevertheless, I really appreciate it." She smiled at him. "Let's go look for your toad now."

Neville looked surprised.

"You'll… come look with me?" he said, uncertain.

"Of course," Hermione said, surprised. "I'm going to help you. Isn't that what friends do for each other?"

A small smile touched Neville's lips, and Hermione didn't miss how his face colored.

"Friends," he murmured.

Hermione marched past him, taking control of the search. Together, they searched the entire length of the platform in a systematic way, ensuring that no toad could escape their gaze. It was a challenge once the platform started to get more crowded, but they managed.

Neville was crushed, but Hermione kept her head up.

"This is good," Hermione said firmly. "This means that Trevor is safely on the train. We can look for him while we're on the way to Hogwarts, and he's not in as much danger of being stepped on as he would be out here."

Neville looked mildly alarmed by that, but he allowed himself to be guided onto the train.

"My gran dropped me off early this morning," he said. "She- she had somewhere else she had to be. I'm glad she's not here. She'd be so disappointed to know I lost something already."

Hermione hesitated. If she wanted Neville as a friend, she'd need to be nice, not just say what was on her mind.

"Accidents happen," she said finally, firmly. "It will be okay, Neville. We'll find your toad."

She left unsaid ' _Why wasn't he in a cage?'_

It wouldn't be a helpful thought to express, she thought.

Once the train started, Hermione and Neville began systematically searching the train, starting at the back, working their way forward. Neville was unsure of disturbing compartments of older students, but Hermione pushed him to anyway – if his toad was important, surely it was important enough to overcome his shyness for.

Hermione had no problem putting her shoulders back, tossing her hair, and asking each compartment if they'd seen a toad. Most compartments just shook their heads no, but a couple smiled at her indulgently – what a precious little first year.

She scowled, after closing one such compartment door. Precious little firstie indeed. Maybe now, but she'd grow up in to someone powerful and important.

She opened the next compartment door. Inside were two boys who looked to be about her age. One was tall and gangly, with ginger hair and blue eyes. The other had dark, messy hair and green eyes. He looked underfed. They were both not wearing robes.

"Have you seen a toad?" she asked. "Neville's lost one."

"We've already told him we haven't seen it," said the red-headed one. Hermione nodded absently, looking at his wand.

"Are you doing magic?" she asked. "Let's see it, then."

She sat down on the bench next to the black-haired boy. She was curious to see what the redhead could do and compare herself to someone else her age.

"Er – all right."

The boy cleared his throat.

" _Sunshine, daisies, butter mellow,_

_Turn this stupid, fat rat yellow."_

He waved his wand, but nothing happened. His rat stayed asleep.

Hermione's first instinct was to point out that his rhyme wasn't a real spell at all, but she hesitated. Her mother had urged her to make friends, and she didn't want to be _unbearable_ here, did she?

"Where'd you get that spell?" she asked finally. "I've never heard of one like that."

The boy scowled.

"My brother," he said. "He was probably playing a joke."

Hermione considered the situation.

"No matter," she said diplomatically. "We'll be at school shortly, and I'm sure we can learn the real spell then, if you want."

The boy blinked, before looking at her with interest.

"Who are you, anyway?"

That was quite a rude way to ask for someone's name, but Hermione let it slide.

"I'm Hermione Granger," she said, inclining her head. "And you are…?"

"Ron Weasley," the redhead boy muttered.

"Harry Potter," said the black-haired boy.

"Are you really?" Hermione said, surprised. "…wait, I take that back. What a stupid question. Of course you know who you are. It just didn't occur to me that you'd be in my year in school. The books all glorified your infancy, and never really went into what happened after the fall of Voldemort."

Ron hissed on the seat across from her, but Harry looked interested.

"I'm in books?"

"Of course – you're in _Modern Magical History_ and _The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts_. You're also in _Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century_. They all pretty much say the same thing, though," she said, shrugging. "Voldemort came to kill you, couldn't, and was somehow vanquished."

She looked at him for a long moment, looking at his scar, and Harry looked uncomfortable. Hermione bit her lip, considering.

"Well, the books didn't tell me anything really important, like what you were like," she said, offering Harry a smile. "Tell me, Harry – are you excited for Hogwarts?"

Gradually, Harry started to relax, and the three started talking. When Neville trailed back up the train, Hermione pulled him in with her, and the four chatted. Ron was excited for Defense Against the Dark Arts, while Neville was looking forward to Herbology. Harry didn't really seem to have a grasp of the classes, so talk soon turned to houses.

"I hope I'm in Gryffindor," Neville told them, "but I bet I get Hufflepuff. My Dad was in Gryffindor – I think my gran will be disappointed if I go anywhere else."

"All my brothers are in Gryffindor," Ron said. "That's probably where I'll go. I don't suppose Ravenclaw would be too bad, but imagine if they put me in Slytherin."

Hermione stiffened.

"That's the house Vol- I mean, You-Know-Who was in?" Harry asked.

"Yeah," Ron confirmed.

"A lot of Dark Wizards come out of Slytherin," Neville added.

Hermione couldn't hold her tongue any longer.

"Merlin was in Slytherin," she told them. "So were five of the last seven Ministers of Magic. A particular house doesn't mean you're a Dark Wizard."

Ron shot her a look. "All of You-Know-Who's Death Eaters came out of Slytherin," he told her.

"That's a lie," she shot back. "Sirius Black was a Gryffindor, Carlisle Selwyn was a Ravenclaw. Maybe more came from Slytherin, but that makes _sense_ , if that was Voldemort's house – they'd have been his _friends_ , wouldn't they?"

Ron and Neville had both shuddered at her casual use of the word _Voldemort_ , but Harry looked thoughtful.

"That makes sense," Harry said. "If there was a house of all Dark Wizards, they'd probably just shut it down."

"Why do _you_ care?" Ron sneered. "You said your parents were muggles. Slytherin's full of blood purists, so it's not like you'll end up there."

Hermione held her tongue back from lashing out. Now would not be the time to pick a fight, or to explain about being New Blood. These boys weren't about to listen, anyway.

"I just think it's unfair to be prejudiced against an entire house for the actions of a few individuals," she said carefully. "What if one of us ends up in a different house than the rest of us? I want us all to still be able to be friends."

She gave them a small, hopeful smile, and Neville returned it.

"I'll still be your friend, if you'll have me," Neville said. "Even if I'm in Hufflepuff."

Ron and Harry glanced at each other and nodded, then nodded back to Hermione.

"We're friends now," Harry pronounced. "Houses don't matter. We can always hang out outside of class, right?"

"Of course." She smiled, and he smiled softly back at her.

There was a pause, before Hermione remembered.

"Legs rested enough, Neville?" she asked, standing and stretching. "We still need to find Trevor."

Neville nodded, getting to his feet. Hermione glanced back at Harry and Ron.

"We're probably getting close. You might want to put your robes on soon," she advised. "We'll be seeing you."

The search for the toad continued to be unsuccessful. With a sigh, Hermione and Neville agreed that maybe it'd be easier for someone to search the train after all the students were gone, and they headed back to the compartment they'd shared with Harry and Ron.

"-don't want to be in _his_ house," Harry was saying as they entered.

"He'll be in Slytherin for sure," Ron told him darkly. "Malfoys were all on the Dark Side. No question."

Hermione held back the urge to laugh at Ron's mention of "the Dark Side," imagining for just a moment that Ron spoke the phrase in Darth Vader's ominous tones. She bit back a grin; anyone who feared Lord Voldemort so much that they couldn't speak the name aloud probably wasn't ready to hear about the terrible Lord Vader.

"You met Malfoy?" Neville said, taking a seat.

Harry explained the altercation he'd just had with Draco Malfoy and his two goons. As he talked, Hermione's heart slowly sank. They were going to have an even _lower_ opinion of Slytherin House now. If she did end up sorted there, she'd have to make sure they saw _her_ , and not the color of her tie, in order to stay friends with them.

Hermione had never had friends before. She didn't want to give these first ones up.

Despite that, though, Hermione knew if she needed to, she would. She had plans, and rumors to whisper and connections to make. She knew Slytherin would help her reach her greatness, and if that meant she had to cut ties with her first friends, she would.

The rest of the train ride, Neville and Ron were animatedly explaining Quidditch to Harry, and Hermione let the gentle rocking of the train lull her into a doze, filled with dreams of lions, snakes, and eagles, all fighting in some magical valley far, far away.


	7. The Library

There were _books!_ There were books upon books upon _books_ , and Hermione could hardly stand it. All of that magic! All of that knowledge! Just _waiting_ for her!

Forcing herself to calm down, Hermione focused on her mission: figure out what McGonagall meant by "power reserves". It sounded important, and like something so basic that it might be assumed that everyone already knew what it was.

It took Hermione a while to work out the library's organization and filing system, and she was grateful when she finally found a card catalog. Moreso, the card catalog was enchanted, each card leading her directly to its book, and Hermione had quickly amassed three books that looked promising.

As she headed to a table, she was surprised to see two others in the library.

"Harry! Neville!"

Harry Potter and Neville Longbottom looked up at her, surprised, and she hurried over to sit with them. Madam Pince, the librarian, shot them all a glare, and Hermione quickly lowered her voice.

"I'm so excited to see you again," she said. "How are you? How is your first day going?"

Harry and Neville exchanged a slow look, before Harry spoke up.

"We had Defense and Charms so far," Harry told her.

"Charms was kind of fun," Neville ventured. "Professor Flitwick is really nice. He showed us how to make the ends of our wands glow. None of us quite got the hang of it, but he just told everyone to practice it for homework instead of assigning an essay, so that was nice."

Hermione shot him a smile. "That sounds nice," she said. "Transfiguration was pretty intense. You're lucky you got something simple on your first day."

She smiled at them, and slowly, Harry and Neville started to smile back.

"What did you think of Defense?" Harry asked. "Quirrell said that he had the Slytherins right after us."

Hermione immediately made a face.

"He's an _awful_ teacher," she proclaimed. "All the jinxes he went over? He did them wrong. I double checked him in two different books. And his lecture was _terrible._ I stopped listening halfway through."

Harry and Neville grinned at her.

"I thought he was awful, too," Harry said. "Just being in the same classroom as him lecturing gave me an awful headache-"

"Guys! I got them—what's _this?_ "

Hermione looked up to see Ron Weasley standing over them with two books on vampires, glaring down at her.

"I go to find books, and you guys start associating with a _Slytherin?_ " he spat, and Hermione was struck by the venom in his tone.

"What are you talking about, Ron?" Hermione said, shocked. "We all sat on the train and talked together. It's not like you don't know me."

"That was before you were sorted into _Slytherin_ ," he said, sitting down next to Harry in a huff. He folded his arms and proceeded to glare at her, and Hermione paused, uncertain how to handle such unexpected rancor.

"I'm still the same person I was when we were all talking and laughing on the train," she said slowly. "Does the color of my tie really matter so much?"

"It does if it's green," Ron said firmly, and Hermione sighed.

"Why?" Hermione said. "What do you have against Slytherins?"

Ron's eyes flashed, and Hermione immediately regretted asking.

"Slytherins are all a bunch of self-serving snakes," he said. "All of You-Know-Who's followers? They all came from Slytherin. All Dark Wizards come from Slytherin, and Slytherins are famous for doing awful pranks to the other houses and not getting caught. They're all fighting for the top spot, and they betray anyone they have to so they can get there. They cheat at Quidditch, too, and they're Pureblood elitists, who want to eradicate anyone who's not a Pureblood."

He snarled this last bit, and Hermione blinked.

"…you do realize that my parents are Muggles, right, Ron?" Hermione asked slowly.

Ron's eyes fell on her, confusion coming to them, as he slowly settled down from his rant.

"Your parents-?"

"Both muggles. Dentists," Hermione said, nodding to Harry. "I don't know about the others, but _I'm_ certainly not going to go on a campaign to eradicate _anyone_ , for any reason _,_ but _especially_ not for blood status."

Ron was looking at her with obvious confusion on his face now.

"Then- how'd you get sorted into Slytherin?" he asked, bewildered.

Hermione shrugged. "Probably because I'm ambitious," she admitted freely. "I always had high career aspirations as a child, and that hasn't changed – I just have magical goals now."

Carefully, she offered him a small smile.

"If you think all Slytherins are snakes who betray each other, can you consider that I'm 'betraying' them to come and hang out with you?" she asked. "Most of the Slytherins don't want to talk to me because my parents are Muggles."

Harry's eyes jerked to hers, widening.

"They're not talking to you?" he said, green eyes bright.

Hermione nodded, then paused.

"Well, except to make fun of me," she said. "Theo Nott challenged me to a bet, earlier, on who'd complete the Transfiguration assignment first, saying I'd have to be his House Elf for a week if I lost, and dress up in the uniform and everything."

Harry's eyes didn't change, but Ron and Neville gasped with horror.

"He didn't," Neville whispered, his eyes wide. "He did that to a fellow Slytherin?"

Hermione blinked, somewhat confused. "Yes. Over breakfast. Luckily, I won the bet, but he still challenged me. I get the idea that I'm missing something, though. What's a House Elf?"

Neville grimaced, while Ron shuddered.

"They're these half-size, ruddy little things," he said. "They do all the rich Purebloods' scut work. And they wear these gross tunic things, like a pillowcase with holes in it. They're filthy all the time."

Hermione's eyebrows rose until they couldn't climb any further onto her head.

"He wanted to make me his _slave?_ " she said, her voice somewhat shrill. "He wanted to make me wear a _pillowcase?_ "

A sharp command from Madam Pince paired with a harsh glare had them all quieting down, but Hermione still felt enraged.

"I didn't realize it was as bad as all that!" she said, furious. "I don't feel nearly so bad for making him carry my books now for losing the bet. And wizards have _slaves?_ "

"They're not really slaves," Neville said quickly, looking down. "They're… they're a different species. They _like_ the work. They live off of the bond they have to the family they serve, though some families abuse them. But it's not that bad, Hermione. Really."

Neville was looking at her hesitantly, and Hermione wavered, before finally settling down in a huff.

"Well, alright then," she said. She shot Ron a look. "Are we all going to work on our Defense essays together, or are we going to go on about how the Slytherin Muggleborn isn't allowed to sit with you anymore?"

Ron looked ashamed, and he cracked open a book without another word.

"I can't believe he gave us homework the first day," he groaned, and Hermione took the other book from him.

"We'll be fine," Hermione said confidently. "Six inches is barely two paragraphs. We'll be able to get this done before dinner."

* * *

Hermione finished her "essay" within half an hour – six inches was _nothing_ , even if she shrunk her handwriting to try to get in enough detail. While her compatriots groaned and poured over the books she'd left out, Hermione had cracked open one of the books she'd found, _The Powerful and the Pitiful_ , and begun to read.

It was a fascinating read. The book dealt with the difference between powerful wizards and pathetic wizards – and, thankfully, barely mentioned blood status at all. Most of the difference seemed to come down to level of magical skill, but there seemed to be an assumed undertone that Hermione could pick up on.

As far as she could tell, wizards and witches had sort of a "magical reserve" inside of them, that contained their magical power. More powerful wizards had a larger reserve, while less powerful wizards had a smaller one. The book seemed to assume that the reserve grew with age, but there was no outright statement of what made one wizard have a larger magical reserve than another.

Hermione found this curious but interesting, and highly promising. If one of the characteristics of a powerful wizard was literally "lots of power," it seemed like that could be gained. Hermione suspected that a person's magical reserve got bigger not just from growing older, but from drawing on it consistently while learning magic, thus exercising it like a muscle. If Hermione could find spells that used unusually large amounts of power for her age group, and use them consistently (perhaps before bed), she could "exercise" her own well of power and grow it at a faster rate than her peers.

…well. That was the idea, anyway, Hermione thought ruefully. She didn't _actually_ know if that was how it worked.

But it certainly couldn't _hurt_.

"Granger?"

Hermione looked up to see Theo, who was smirking at her from nearby. He gestured to the nearby clock, and Hermione leapt to her feet.

"Dinner time," she told the others, her voice musical. "I'll see you later!"

Hermione scooped up her three books and checked them out with Madam Pince, before slinging them into her bag. She didn't want Theo to see the titles – it'd be better if no one knew she was _working_ on becoming more powerful.

This time, Theo took her bag with no resentment, and to her surprise, offered her his arm as they went down the stairs.

"Why, Theo," Hermione remarked, pleased. "How gentlemanly of you."

Theo rolled his eyes. "I know my manners. I was raised a Pureblood, after all."

As far as Hermione could tell, the expectations upon Pureblood men seemed to be those of Da Vinci's ideal Renaissance man – perfectly trained in _everything_.

"You didn't extend them to me earlier, though," Hermione said, raising an eyebrow. "What changed?"

There was a silence as Theo led her down the stairs.

"I overhead McGonagall talking to Sprout," he said abruptly. He looked at her sideways. "…you managed to change that dowel into a pipe?"

Hermione's face flushed, and she squirmed.

"Only at the very end, and it wasn't lead," she admitted. "It was too shiny for lead, and not heavy enough. Maybe steel or aluminum?"

A smirk flickered on Theo's lips.

"That's what you're worried about?" he remarked, amused. "Not the fact that you were able to transfigure that as a First year?"

"Why wouldn't I be able to?" Hermione tossed her hair. "Professor McGonagall told me to. She said she'd give me points if I managed it."

"Apparently, you beat McGonagall's own record in transfiguring that," Theo told her, enjoying the way Hermione's eyes grew wide. "McGonagall wasn't able to do that until her fourth class. Dumbledore managed it on his third."

There was a silence.

"She did give us points for it though, right?" Hermione ventured. "She wasn't mad that I beat her record?"

"Quote the opposite. She seemed proud of you, even though you're a Slytherin," Theo told her. "And she gave you _fifty_ points for Slytherin. _Fifty._ The most anyone else has earned so far in one go has been five."

Theo led her back up a staircase and down a hallway, avoiding Peeves throwing water balloons at students as they screamed and scurried down the stairs.

"So now you believe me, is that it?" Hermione said. "You heard what I did, and you think I'm powerful now, so I must not be a Muggleborn?"

Theo gave her a slow look.

"I've never heard of this New Blood thing, but it makes sense," he admitted. "All the houses started from _somewhere_. And there hasn't been a new one in _ages_ , so it makes sense it'd be hard to find knowledge about them in books, especially if you weren't hunting directly _for_ it. So I'm willing to suspend my disbelief," he told her, and Hermione tried to hold back her surprise. "If nothing else, I've been taught to respect power, and you've already proven you have that in spades."

Hermione raised an eyebrow.

"And the others…?"

Theo smirked.

"Blaise never cared what your blood status was – he cared that you were Slytherin, female, and attractive," he told her, and Hermione flushed. "And Tracey and Millicent are in no situation to be making any judgements about blood status. Daphne is holding out to see what else you can do, as is Draco – they're not willing to make a call about what level of power you have just based on one class, though they didn't overhear what I did. And Pansy? She's not likely to accept you anytime soon – she likes being on top, and she's not going to be keen to give that up."

"If they're not ready to make a call yet, why are you?" Hermione asked, suspicious, and Theo smirked.

"If I support you, and you turn out to be super powerful, I've established myself as a trustworthy confidant and friend from the very beginning," he told her, eyes glinting. "If you don't, I've got enough status as one of the Sacred 28 that my youthful indiscretion will be entirely forgotten, and it won't hurt me past, say, third year at the most."

Hermione laughed.

"You're the perfect Slytherin," she said aloud. "Scheming and making connections already."

"Thank you." Theo swept her a bow as he held open the door to the Great Hall. "Now… dinner, my lady?"

Hermione smirked. "Lead the way."


	8. Preparing

_December 1990 - 8 months before Hogwarts_

.

.

'New Blood', Hermione determined, wasn't a thing.

It was December, and Hermione had finally finished all the extra books she'd bought at Flourish and Blotts. Hermione was glad she had the extra year before starting, and that Luna had guided her to some books she wouldn't have considered herself – they were the books that helped her realize what she was up against. The books talked about Pure Blood, they talked about Half Blood, and they talked about Muggleborn. One even called Muggleborns 'Mudbloods', which kept in with the theme of 'something-blood', Hermione supposed. But none of her books mentioned New Blood at all.

But Luna had been _very_ specific. She'd called her 'New Blood'. And she'd repeated it three times.

From what Hermione could derive from her books, being 'New Blood', whatever it was, had to be better than her other option – being a Muggleborn.

Her history books told her about the recent Wizarding War, where an evil wizard called 'Voldemort' (though he was typically referred to as 'You-Know-Who', which Hermione thought overly dramatic) had recruited followers and attempted to eradicate the wizarding world of Muggleborns. Though Voldemort had been defeated (or had disappeared, as one book suggested), Hermione got the distinct feeling that Muggleborns were still prejudiced against in some parts of society. _The Pureblood Etiquette Guide_ , for example, offered a section on how much to scowl at a Muggleborn if one touched you, depending on the societal status of the person and whether or not they smelled.

Hermione already knew she'd be going into the Wizarding World at a disadvantage, having not grown up with magic, but to go in facing such prejudice?

It seemed cruelly unfair.

If 'New Blood' _wasn't_ a thing, Hermione would _make_ it a thing, she decided.

After turning the word over and over in her head, Hermione decided on what New Blood would be.

New Bloods would be when Magic itself gifted a person, and they would be destined to found their _own_ Great House (whatever a Great House consisted of). A New Blood would count as a Pureblood, because magic blessing them would make them 'pure', so purebloods wouldn't be able to discriminate against them. And a New Blood would be astonishingly powerful and an amazing witch or wizard, and everyone would be envious of their powers.

That way, Hermione shouldn't have to face the disadvantage of this stupid blood prejudice, once she established herself. Then, she could try and right any wrongs and unfairness from the _inside_ instead of the outside. That was always easier. As a New Blood, she would be someone _valued_ in this magical society, not someone despised.

Or that was the plan, anyway.

Hermione looked down at her written definition, gnawing on the end of a pen. Her definition assumed that all other Muggleborns were products of long-lost squib lines, but Hermione thought it plausible – it seemed from the books that Purebloods were ashamed of squib children and sent them away into the muggle world, so no one would ever really be able to _check_ and see if Muggleborns came from squib ancestors.

It also assumed that as a New Blood, she would be very powerful. Hermione bit her lip at that one.

Well, she'd just have to make sure she became very powerful, then, wouldn't she?

* * *

Hermione's mother, Jean Granger, was amusedly humoring her daughter the week before Christmas by taking her to London. Hermione had insisted that it was crucial that she take care of some 'magic things' so she wouldn't fall behind in her studies, and Jean had acquiesced to accompanying her through London as a Christmas treat.

They were now standing on a perfectly average street, though, that did not seem to have anything special, but Hermione was insisting there was a pub between a bookstore and another shop.

When Hermione took her hand and _dragged_ her in, Jean was surprised to realize there _was_ a store there – a dingy sort of pub, that- _was that a troll drinking whisky?_

Hermione was talking to the barkeep, who nodded and gestured, and then Hermione led her mother over to a large fireplace.

"We're going to travel to the Ministry of Magic this way," Hermione told her mom, gnawing on her lip anxiously. "I've never done it, but I've read all about it, so this should work."

Jean eyed the fire apprehensively. She could feel its heat on her face.

"Hermione," she said gently. "I know your magic can do many things, but…"

Hermione was clearly ignoring her, reaching up on tiptoes to grab a handful of what looked like sparkly dirt from a flower pot, which she threw into the flames.

Jean gasped as the flames turned emerald, and Hermione grinned up at her mom, grabbing her hand and pulling her into the fire.

"The Ministry of Magic!" she cried, and Jean lost her breath as they were abruptly swept away.

* * *

Hermione was quite pleased with herself.

First, she'd gone to register her house on the Floo Network. This involved filling out a form with her address, having her mother sign it, and showing the clerk a piece of mail addressed to her mother at their address. Hermione had brought just such a thing, to her mother's consternation, but the bored Ministry employee had acknowledged that yes, Jean Granger really lived there, which was all that was needed. A fee of 3 sickles later, the Granger household was linked up to the Floo Network, and Hermione was nearly bouncing with glee.

Next, Hermione dragged her mother to the Office of Underage Magic. After quickly explaining what needed to happen here, Hermione watched as her mother straightened her back and adopted a haughty, insulted expression, took Hermione's wand, and marched into the office, demanding that her house be listed as a Magical Household.

The Ministry worker looked shocked, but Hermione's mother insisted that she'd just moved, that her new address somehow hadn't been registered, and that she refused to get warning letters for casting magic in her own household. She held the wand threateningly at the worker (even though she couldn't use it), and the worker, upon seeing the house was already linked up on the Floo Network, and therefore clearly a magical household, filed the correct paperwork to register it as a magical household, removing it from the Trace.

Now, she could practice her spells. She'd be able to actually _do_ magic, not just practice thinking the incantations and tracing her wand through the air. And the Ministry would be none the wiser.

When they left, Hermione was nearly skipping with glee.


	9. Potions Class

Herbology was the first class on Tuesday, which went rather well. There wasn't much to do to succeed in Herbology except learn and memorize _everything_ , which Hermione felt confident she could do. She doubted she'd ever show much natural talent in the class, but she was sure she could at least perform to be in the top ten in the subject, if tested, and that was probably all she needed to get by. Hermione had noticed Professor Sprout lurking around her, beaming at Hermione anytime she looked up, and Hermione had to fight to not be unnerved. She knew it was because McGonagall had talked to her, but how was Hermione supposed to show aptitude with this? They were re-potting plants!

After lunch, History of Magic was a bore. Professor Binns was a ghost, and had a hollow, empty monotone that made it difficult to figure out where the point of his statements was hidden. Hermione had gotten so frustrated she'd gone up and asked for a course syllabus after class, so she could study the material more on her own time. The ghost had blinked in surprise, but directed her to the second drawer in his desk. Hermione had pulled out an aging, crumbling syllabus, but it was enough – she thanked him and left the class.

There was Astronomy that night, which Hermione enjoyed – she'd learned the planets and the constellations when she was young, and she liked collecting point after point for Slytherin as she fielded every question. She was careful not to raise her hand, and to maintain the bored, disaffected manner that she'd seen all the other Slytherins wear, but she couldn't help but feel proud and warm inside as Professor Sinistra praised her.

The next morning was a free period, to allow them to recuperate from being out so late the night before. Most of the Slytherins were sleeping in, but Hermione enjoyed the alone time to linger over breakfast with _Perfecting Your Potions_. She was fairly sure they wouldn't be assigned a potion too difficult for their first class, so all she could do was focus on brewing her potion as perfectly as possible. The prefect had said that Professor Snape, their Head of House, would come to bat for them to protect them from bullies and accusations. More than anything, Hermione didn't want to let him down.

Hermione arrived at the Potions classroom promptly, with Theo as her escort, only to discover the work stations seemed to be set up in pairs – clearly, two people would work on one cauldron.

Hermione bit her lip. There were ten first-year Slytherins, and this class was shared with Gryffindor. Tracey and Millicent would presumably work together, Crabbe and Goyle never left each other's sides (or Draco's, for that matter). Draco would probably work with Pansy, as Hermione doubted Pansy would let go of his arm long enough to let anyone else get close, which left Blaise, Daphne, and Theo.

"Partners?" Hermione asked Theo. Theo raised an eyebrow.

"Your ability in Potions is still untested," he said, his voice wary.

"Part of your bodyguard duties, then," she shot back with a smirk. "The Gryffindors are in this class with us. Should one of their cauldrons explode, it's your sworn duty to shield me."

Theo smirked back at that, and amenably set up his work station next to hers.

"You're lucky – I've helped my father with potions before," he told her quietly, as other students began to file in. "We should be able to pull this assignment off without much trouble."

When Professor Snape swept into the room, Hermione caught her breath. His cloak billowed behind him, and Hermione found herself appreciating his flair for the dramatic as he introduced potion-making to them in an enchanting, if foreboding, speech. She leaned forward in her seat, unconsciously trying to catch every word.

She was caught off-guard when he began interrogating Harry with ingredient questions. She knew the answers, but judging from the twisted hatred emblazoned on Snape's face, Snape didn't seem to actually _want_ the answers, so Hermione opted not to interfere.

Both Hermione and Theo relaxed somewhat as Snape turned and gave instructions to collect ingredients and open their books to make a Boil Cure potion, as he turned to the board to write down the most common mistakes.

Theo went off to get ingredients, while Hermione opened her book, and paused.

There were instructions on how to make a Boil Cure potion in their textbook, _Magical Drafts and Potions._

There were _also_ instructions on how to make a Boil Cure potion in the more advanced textbook she'd bought, _Book of Potions_ , though they were fairly vague.

Hermione bit her lip, torn. On the one hand, the more advanced book would clearly result in a better potion. However, the recipe was _vastly_ more complicated, and she doubted her ability to brew it correctly on her first try.

When Theo returned, Hermione quietly showed him both books, and Theo turned to Hermione sharply.

"There's no way we'll ever manage the second one," he said in a whisper, as he began to crush the snake fangs. "But…"

"We can add some of the ingredients to enhance our own," Hermione finished. Theo gave her a slow nod.

As Theo worked on crushing the snake fangs with the mortar, Hermione filled the cauldron with water and carefully compared the two recipes, cross-referencing the new ingredients from the harder recipe with _1000 Magical Herbs and Fungi_. While she ruled out using shrake spines (she had no idea how to "not over excite" them, as the book said) and flobberworm mucus (she wasn't quite sure what it did, but it seemed to condense the brewing time), pungous onions when combined with horned slugs and ginger had an enhancing effect on healing properties.

It was with great care to be subtle and unseen that Hermione began carefully slicing a few pungous onions, worried about keeping their pungent scent from leaking out into the classroom. Luckily for them, the stink of Longbottom's potion was overruling any other possible smell, and no one seemed to notice the smell of some onions nearby.

Theo watched her carefully as she added the onions, then added a measure of dried nettles to the potion before they set it to boil briefly, and then simmer for a measure of time.

Snape was patrolling the room, looking at students' potions, frequently deducting points for incorrect brewing and mistakes, though deducting fewer from the Slytherin side. Crabbe and Goyle lost five for somehow ending up with a bright blue potion instead of a slowly-enhancing pink, and Malfoy even lost one – he clearly hadn't crushed his snake fangs into a fine enough powder.

When Snape came over to their desk, Hermione was doing her best not to quake in her boots. She'd hidden her other books, but it was obvious something was different with their potion – it was a much deeper shade of pink than the others'.

As Hermione watched Snape, his eyebrows rose, and there was a definite moment of surprise as he regarded their cauldron. It was but a second, and the emotion was quickly masked, but when Snape moved on without a word, Hermione could feel herself let out a breath of relief she hadn't realized she'd been holding.

She shot Theo a quirked smile, which he returned with a smirk.

When the simmering time was done, Hermione sprinkled in some powdered ginger root and stirred the cauldron vigorously when Snape's back was turned, while Theo prepared the horned slugs and carefully added them to the cauldron. Together, they managed to take their cauldron off the fire before slipping their porcupine quills into the potion. Theo stirred it, and Hermione waved her wand over it, and they were both pleased to see a magenta potion cooling in their cauldron, a pink steam rising from it – just as the book had described.

Hermione watched around the room. Neville had forgotten to take his cauldron off the flame before adding the quills, causing his cauldron to melt, and the room smelled horrible. The Gryffindors near him were scrambling to get away from the creeping mixture, and Snape seemed to take great delight in shaming Neville and castigating him for his mistake before finally waving his wand and cleaning up the mess.

"Ours is a deeper pink than the book describes," Theo told Hermione with a frown.

"Well, we didn't do exactly what the book describes, did we?" Hermione murmured. "Let's wait and see what Snape says."

At the end of class, Snape told them each to bring up a labelled flask of their potion for him to grade. Hermione carefully filled a flask and printed her and Theo's names on it in bold, clear letters, before trotting up to lay it on his desk.

"Miss Granger."

Hermione turned, Snape's eyes on her. They were pitch black, and they glinted in the dim light.

"You and Mister Nott – stay after class."

Hermione swallowed.

"Yes, sir."

It was on shaky legs that Hermione made her way back to their work station. Theo looked at her with alarm when she told him Snape's instructions, but he squared his shoulders.

"Even if he fails us this assignment, it's the first one of the year," he said. "We'll be able to make back the points."

The bell rang, and Snape dismissed the class, his eyes glaring at those who dilly-dallied while collecting their things. After the classroom was empty, Snape shut the door with a firm _thud_ , and swept over to their cauldron, his eyes glittering. He gestured to the cauldron.

"Explain."

Hermione swallowed.

"We added pungous onions and ginger to help enhance the healing properties of the boil cure potion, and nettles after the onions to help soothe any burning sensations during application to the end user," Hermione explained quietly. She bit her lip.

"Why did you alter who stirred and who waved the wand at the end?"

Hermione and Theo's eyes darted to each other. Hermione was fairly sure he'd just let her wave her wand as a way to evenly split the work.

"The stirring was clockwise, so I thought a witch waving the wand instead of a wizard would help stabilize it," Hermione admitted. "I don't know if that's actually a thing in potions, but I like symmetry, and it certainly couldn't hurt."

" _It couldn't hurt_ ," Snape echoed, sneering. Hermione bit her lip as Snape glared at them, before he let loose a sigh.

"This… this is well done," Snape said finally, slowly, as if it pained him to say so. "This is very well done, for first year work."

Hermione and Theo shared a quick, darting glance of relief, before Snape scowled.

"However, it is dangerous to not follow directions," Snape snapped. "Class is not the place to experiment with improving potion-making."

Hermione blinked.

"Class is a dangerous place regardless," she pointed out. "Neville was _trying_ to follow directions, and his attempt ended up being a disaster."

Theo smirked, but Hermione continued.

"And isn't class the _best_ place to experiment and learn?" Hermione asked. "Surely experimenting without expert supervision outside of class would be _far worse_ , in terms of the potential consequences."

Snape moved to stand in front of her, glaring down at her, and Hermione struggled not to cower.

"In this class," Snape hissed, "you must complete the assignment as it is assigned."

"The assignment was to complete a Boil-Cure potion," Hermione countered, her voice wavering. "And we did that, didn't we?"

Snape drew himself up, before scowling at them with a sigh. Hermione felt a flare of hope leap in her heart, encouraging her to press on.

"Just… I don't want Potions class to be like a cooking class, you know?" she said, her eyes pleading. "These are powerful, magical things. I want to learn how and why they work, and how and why they interact the way they do – not just follow directions from a recipe book."

Snape was quiet for a long time. Hermione looked down, wondering if she had gone too far, speaking out of turn.

"Five points to Slytherin," he said finally, "for completing an excellent potion. Bottle the rest of it up – that's a high-enough quality to help stock the infirmary."

Hermione's hands flew to her mouth, and Theo couldn't suppress his surprised grin.

"…and a further five points," Snape said, eyeing Hermione with something almost like respect, "for keeping your head and using cool logic in the face of a powerful foe."

At that, Hermione gave Snape a brilliant smile, and Snape rolled his eyes.

"You're our foe, sir?" she asked, not quite able to get the teasing tone out of her voice. "That doesn't seem quite right."

"I was in this instance, Miss Granger," Snape said, and Hermione could swear she saw a quirk of his lips. "However: next time you plan to alter a potion's given recipe, wave me over and consult me before you start."

Theo grinned and Hermione beamed, and Snape rolled his eyes and moved away.

"Do _not_ tell the other students about this incident, however," he warned them. "The last thing we need is the Longbottoms of the world thinking they're potion innovators, and melting every cauldron in the castle."

Quietly, Hermione and Theo shared a soft snicker as they ladled out the rest of their potion into bottles, carefully labeling each one.


	10. Routine

Classes fell into a routine, and it was one that Hermione loved.

Her studying over the past year had obviously paid off – she was at the top of her classes, and it was with little effort on her part, as she'd already mastered these assignments months ago. Some of her teachers like Professor McGonagall would quietly offer her a challenge to keep her engaged, and Hermione enjoyed these opportunities to try something unexpected and new. Most professors, however, just beamed and awarded Slytherin points, which the competitive side of Hermione enjoyed all too much.

Herbology was going better than expected, somehow. Hermione had memorized the important identifiers and plant diagrams from the textbook, but still, just doing as she was told seemed to be how Herbology worked. When each student was given an Amanello plant for repotting, however, it was fairly obvious to see that while most of the plants were struggling to stay alive, Hermione's was flourishing. She wondered if she'd just gotten lucky, or if there was something else to it, but she was happy either way – Professor Sprout was pleased, and it seemed like only one other plant from the first years was doing as well as hers, so she was ranked in the top again.

Charms was a positive experience. Flitwick had been so charmed upon meeting her ("The first Muggleborn in Slytherin in centuries!" – she hadn't bothered to correct him) that she could do no wrong in his eyes. It helped that his lessons so far were following the structure of the textbook to a T, the early chapters of which she'd long since mastered.

Potions continued to be a delicate balance angering and impressing Snape. As the Potions Master stalked around the room, castigating those who failed to perform according to expectations or failed in reading the instructions, Hermione deliberately ignored sections of instructions, experimenting to see what would happen. She and Theo had taken to brewing in two cauldrons – one, with the potion done exactly as the instructions directed, and another where they made slight alterations to see if they could get the potion to come out better. Hermione was relieved a few times, after she caused the experimental potion to begin emitting sparks or turn into a brown sludge, that she and Theo had a backup to ensure they wouldn't fail. After class, Snape would quiz them on the changes they made, sneering at her attempts that failed and criticizing her minimal understanding. Reading between the lines, though, Hermione could tell where they had gone wrong and what he suggested they should have done instead – making it so she learned even more from her failures than her successes.

Her slowly-growing acquaintance with Theo was nice, too.

History of Magic and Defense Against the Dark Arts both continued to be a joke. Hermione freely ignored both instructors, not bothering to take notes, and she read books in class without penalty. She got a couple horrified glances in Defense, but as Quirrell never bothered with practical exercises or asking questions of the class, she was never caught. In History, it seemed that _no one_ paid attention – it was a frequent place for catching up on other homework or taking a power nap. Hermione was somewhat disgusted by the situation – shouldn't the teachers at one of the best magical schools in the world be the _best?_ The situation allowed her, however, to study ahead, and Hermione admitted to herself that the extra study time was probably more helpful than an actual lesson would have been.

Magic classes were amazing, in Hermione's opinion, but there was something even better.

For the first time, she had friends.

Not counting Theo, who was sort of a tentative ally, Hermione had Tracey and Millie, who didn't hesitate to talk to her and share a smile or a joke. They had no interest in getting homework answers from her, and they laughed and seemed to appreciate her dry comments about their teachers, classes, and course material. Hermione, in turn, felt like she could feed on Tracey's enthusiasm, and Millie was always helpful, quietly explaining the idea behind odd pureblood customs that Hermione didn't quite _get._

Even more, Hermione had solidified her friendship with Harry Potter and Neville Longbottom. Despite the House difference, both Harry and Neville were happy to have a friend, and Hermione was happy to call them friend back. She enjoyed working on homework with them – in Slytherin, it seemed no one studied together, as everyone worked carefully to maintain the image that they just always _somehow_ happened to know everything – and she didn't mind answering their questions. She'd been horrified at discovering their first essay marks, and, upon reading their essays, had quickly discovered why – no one had taught them how to _write_. After a crash course in essay-writing, paragraph structure, and sentence structure, she was pleased to see her friends' marks rise accordingly, and they were incredibly grateful for her intervention. Neville's grandmother had even sent him a gift – a wizarding camera – for him to send home photos of his friends and Herbology plants.

Ron Weasley, however, Hermione continued to have problems with. Ron seemed obsessed with the fact that she was in Slytherin, and he took her house as a sign that she would betray them at the first available opportunity. Disgusted, Hermione had asked exactly _how_ she was supposed to betray them, when all they did was spend time together studying, but Ron had looked away, muttering that "they'd all see soon enough." Ron had also forgone the essay-writing lesson, saying that he didn't need help from a slimy Slytherin, and Hermione had let him storm from the library without further comment, hiding her hurt with a raised eyebrow. She took a sort of twisted satisfaction that Ron wasn't doing as well as his friends in his classes, now, and that his marks within a couple more weeks were quite bad. She knew it was wrong to take pleasure in someone else's failure, but in the face of his constant meanness, it felt _good_ to know she was doing so much better than him.

In the evenings, Hermione had taken to trying to completely drain her magic before going to sleep, in the hopes that doing so would prompt her 'magic reserves', as she imagined it, to grow accordingly. She'd begun with Transfiguration, but that hadn't really worked – either she got it or she didn't, and when she didn't, all the power from the failed transfiguration simply flowed back. Hermione had finally found a winner with a simple charm: levitation. She'd started by levitating a pencil until she could do so no longer, then a book, then a lamp. She timed and tracked her progress, and Hermione was pleased to discover that it seemed that every couple nights, she was able to levitate the item for just a little longer, or something just a little heavier instead. To think she might soon be trying to levitate her entire nightstand for a period of time, just to train…! Hermione was excited at her progress.

The worst part of Hogwarts, however, were her housemates.

Hermione had _known_ , to some degree, that she would be isolated from her house. She'd known that by going into the core of blood prejudice, she'd face the most ostracization and the most prejudice. She'd _known_ that. But she'd also known that, however subtle, blood prejudice was _everywhere_ , and that she'd be better off fighting against it from the very start.

She still thought her plan was good, but it was awfully hard to care about how good her plan was when the rest of her house ignored her.

Word had leaked out that Hermione had grown up with Muggles, and though the rumor of her being some kind of special "new blood" was slowly percolating through the house, it was ignored and disbelieved. There was a Muggleborn in Slytherin. It was unheard of. The older students ignored her, bumped her, hissed derogatory things in her ears as they passed her in the common room, and subtly ostracized her from the rest of them. Outside of the Slytherin dorms, no one would ever know it, as Slytherins stuck together, but inside… Hermione was having a hard time.

Her year-mates were little better.

Though Tracey and Millie talked to her, Theo only really talked to her directly in Potions, which Hermione understood – he couldn't jeopardize his own position with the other Slytherins by talking to her. And the other Slytherins _didn't_ talk to her.

Draco Malfoy seemed to be the leader of the first years. He bossed Vincent Crabbe and Greg Goyle around, and they obeyed without a second thought. Blaise and Theo, he would talk to, as he would with Daphne and Pansy. Occasionally, he'd deign to speak to Millie or Tracey with a sneer on his face, but he didn't talk to Hermione at all. She didn't even merit a sneer from him – she was simply and completely ignored, as if she didn't exist.

Pansy, on the other hand, was worse. When in the girls' dorm, Pansy's snide remarks never stopped until sleep, and Hermione felt like she had to be constantly on her guard to defend against them. Hermione enjoyed seeing Pansy angry and irate when Hermione managed to parry her remarks with seeming ease, but Pansy's constants insults and belittling were hard to ignore. It was only by her constant, continuing improvement with magic that Hermione had the inner strength to remain confident and not start believing the things Pansy hissed at her. How could she not belong at a magic school when she was the best in their year?

Hermione kept her chin up and didn't let Pansy see any reaction from her remarks. In the wild, large snakes would eat weaker snakes with utter disregard, and living in Slytherin was no different.


	11. Muggle School

_March 1991 - 5 months before Hogwarts_

.

.

Muggle school had taken a turn for the better. Though Hermione had begged her parents to let her teach herself from home so she could balance learning magic with learning the mundane, her parents had stood firm: she was to finish the school year, and that was final. Hermione had been aggravated, and dragged her feet, but she reached a compromise with her parents – if she kept her marks up, she was allowed to read her magic books wherever she pleased, so long as she kept the covers concealed.

Her parents bought her a set of stretchy, elastic book covers to fit over her books. Once equipped, Hermione always had a covered magic book or two with her, even though her usual bookbag was already filled with books.

Something had changed in Hermione, though, and the other students noticed. It was something subtle, starting around her birthday, when she'd had that altercation with the bullies. There was a vague sense that _something_ had happened, because the boys had just muttered about it and passed the word along not to mess with the Granger girl. But Hermione seemed more self-confident, and it seemed to be growing out of nowhere. She still had no friends, and she still spent breaks reading to herself off to the side, but she'd toned down answering all the questions in class, and they'd noticed that she'd stopped asking for extra credit.

It was as if Hermione suddenly didn't _care_ anymore. She still got top marks, of course, but she wasn't trying so hard. And the change was noticeable.

It was because of this that Amelia, abandoned one day by her friends, who all had the flu, cautiously approached Hermione, who was on a bench at the side of the recess field, drawing in the dirt with a stick. Hermione looked up with surprise.

"Amelia…?"

Her greeting sounded like a question.

"Hermione."

Amelia offered her a smile as best she could, though it felt awkward, and took a seat next to Hermione. Hermione continued to prod at the dirt with a large branch.

"How are you?" Amelia asked.

"Me? Oh, I'm fine," Hermione said, startled out of her thoughts. She looked over at the other girl. "And you?"

"I'm doing good," Amelia said. Hermione made a face.

"Well," she muttered, under her breath.

"Well what?" Amelia asked.

"You're doing _well_ ," Hermione corrected. "'Good' is an adjective; 'well' is an adverb. I _am_ good; I'm _doing_ well."

Amelia stared at her.

"This is why you have no friends, you know," she told her.

Hermione smiled a wry smile at the dirt.

"Yeah," she said. "I know."

She kept staring at the dirt, and Amelia felt guilt start to mount up in her.

"Though, you've been a lot better recently," she told Hermione, trying for an encouraging voice. "Like, you're still a swot, but you're not so unbearable about it anymore."

"I'm not unbearable anymore," Hermione repeated flatly. "That's good to know."

Amelia gave up. She watched Hermione, who was still scratching things in the dirt.

"…is that a lion?" she asked. "What are you even _doing_?"

"I'm wondering what environment built around a set of ideals I think I would fit best into," Hermione said. "I'm having a difficult time of it."

"…I have no idea what you just said."

"It's like this," Hermione said, poking at the ground. "Imagine that there are four clubs, and you have to join one. Only instead of activities, the clubs are about personality traits. I'm trying to figure out which one I would belong in."

"Oh." Amelia blinked. "Is this from a book?"

"Something like that."

Amelia looked again at the ground, where four sketches were laid out. "What are the traits for each club?"

"One club is a for brave people. They value courage, nerve, determination, and chivalry," Hermione said, poking one of the drawings. "They're the lions."

Amelia could kind of imagine it. Hermione had faced off against bullies constantly, and she was nothing if not stubborn.

"Maybe," she said. "What else?"

"This one values hard work, dedication, patience, loyalty, and fairness," Hermione said, jabbing at another dirt drawing. "That's supposed to be a badger, but it kind of looks like a dying skunk."

Amelia made a face. "Hard work and patience doesn't sound like any fun."

"It doesn't," Hermione agreed.

"The other two?"

"This one, the eagle one, values wit, knowledge, intelligence, and learning," she said.

"That one," Amelia said immediately. "You belong in the eagle club."

"That's what I thought too," Hermione said. "But there's one left…"

She pointed at the last drawing with the stick. It looked like just a couple wavy lines, but Amelia realized there was a forked tongue and eyes on one side.

"This one values ambition, leadership, cunning, and resourcefulness," she said. "They have a snake."

"And you think that you might fit in this club better than the swotty one?"

"I don't know." Hermione bit her lip. "What do you think?"

Amelia looked back at the dirt.

"…I can kind of see why you have your doubts," she said finally. "The other three, they all have set traits – bravery, hard work, intelligence, whatever. But _ambition_ – that's more of a mindset, isn't it? You can be ambitious and still be brave. You can be a leader and still be smart. Y'know?"

She chanced a glance at Hermione, who was chewing on her lip.

"You always told everyone you wanted to grow up and be prime minister, or maybe a brilliant surgeon," Amelia said, shrugging. "That might take intelligence, but maybe it takes ambition more to get that far."

Hermione considered again.

"…I hadn't thought of that," she said. "Thanks."

Amelia smiled. "You're welcome."

Abruptly, Hermione's face lightened.

"What club do _you_ think you'd end up in?" she asked.

"Oh, I'd join the lion club," Amelia said immediately. "Bravery and chivalry being the values? The boys would be like knights!"

Hermione rolled her eyes but laughed, dragging the stick through the dirt to erase the drawings.

"You're ridiculous," she informed her. "But thanks anyway."

Amelia smirked back.

When the recess bell rang and they filed back into the classroom, Amelia promptly forgot about their conversation in the face of a blackboard full of numbers and pre-algebra. Her friends were back to school the next day, so her break went back to normal – gossip and attempts at flirting with boys, most of whom were too immature to be interested yet.

But Hermione never forgot their discussion.


	12. Noticing

One Friday morning when all the girls were getting ready, Pansy was whining and complaining to Daphne about her skin being uneven (and how was she ever going to attract Draco's attention like _this?_ ), and Hermione had an abrupt realization.

None of the girls here ever… _used_ anything.

Hermione felt almost dirty at the thought. Though her mother had carefully taught her how to tame and style her hair for formal events, Hermione never bothered, as it felt too artificial and vain to focus on her looks that much. The same went for makeup – her mother had insisted that every young woman should know how to do her own makeup _properly_ before heading off to boarding school, and Hermione had accepted the lessons (and even drawn diagrams and taken notes). She'd promptly shoved the makeup case her mother had given her to the back of her trunk to never think about again, but now… she was.

Pansy was the sort of girl that Hermione would expect to do her makeup _every day_ , if she were in Muggle school. Girls back at Hermione's Muggle school that were her age had been carefully trying out concealer, eye liner, and mascara, often hidden in the bathrooms, and Pansy was _just like_ those girls. Pansy was vain, Pansy was shallow, and Pansy was overly concerned with appearances. So… why didn't she wear makeup? Why didn't she curl her hair? Why didn't she do _anything_ besides brush her hair and pin it around a bit?

The first answer, Hermione quickly figured out – there was no electricity here, so using a curling iron or hot curls was out, damning Pansy's hair to eternal thin limpness. Hermione idly wondered if there was a way to heat a curling iron with magic.

But the second… why didn't Pansy wear makeup? Did the wizards have something different?

With a muttered curse as she glanced at the clock, Hermione grabbed her bag and hurried after Tracey to breakfast.

But the thought plagued Hermione all day, driving her to distraction (though Professor Flitwick didn't seem to notice – her _Lumos_ was still the brightest in the class). Did witches normally wear potions and creams that they brewed themselves – but potions like that were above the level of what first years could brew? Did they cast some sort of visual charm to hide flaws? What did they _do?_

Hermione felt disgusted with herself for obsessing over it. Why did she _care?_ She'd never bothered with such frivolities. But yet, she wondered.

Finally, at lunch, Hermione turned to Millicent, and quietly asked.

"Why doesn't Pansy ever do anything about her skin if she's so upset about it?" she asked. Millicent looked confused.

"What, like a glamour?" she said, giving Hermione a strange look. "Those are incredibly difficult, and very draining to keep up all day. I've only known a few fully-grown witches to manage them, and even then, only for the duration of an evening party."

"A glamour?"

"A beauty spell. Something that say, makes your skin look smooth and fair, even if you've got spots." Millicent shrugged. "They're really hard to maintain, with precision, so most witches don't bother."

Hermione felt a slow suspicion in her mind.

"But… what about like, a potion or something?" she asked. "Something to help with her appearance?"

"What, like Sleekeazy's?" Millie asked. "There are a couple potions for hair, but not many – that's why Sleekeazy made such a fortune on his. There's mostly just shampoo, and a couple to help hair grow strong and not break."

"No, for her face," Hermione said, impatient. "Why doesn't she cover up her spots?"

Millie gave her a strange look. "With what?"

Having found her answer, a slow smile spread over Hermione's face.

"Never mind. Thank you!"

Millie gave Hermione a raised eyebrow, but she was used to Hermione's eccentricities, and she turned to Tracey to ask about the Potions assignment, leaving Hermione to stare at the slowly-shifting clouds on the ceiling as she began to plot.

Witches here didn't have makeup. Hermione wondered why. Maybe it didn't _work_ on witches? But that didn't feel right either – Hermione's mother had been able to put makeup on Hermione, and there hadn't been any unexpected results or difficulties. Maybe it couldn't be made with normal potion ingredients, and no one had thought to use more mundane ingredients? Or maybe it was ignored or unknown because it was Muggle?

Desperate for answers, Hermione went to the library on their free period to find a book on magical beauty standards to read during History of Magic.

She read the book later that day as Professor Binns droned on and on. The book she had found was mostly about fashion – about the cut of your robes, what jewelry to wear, how to pin-curl your hair overnight so it would have curls, what colors complimented your eyes, etc. There was a brief mention in the book of learning and holding a glamour, but only in passing, and there was nothing in it – _nothing_ – about doing your makeup.

Hermione bit her lip.

After class, Hermione took off in search of answers. She found a Hufflepuff, Ernie MacMillan, who directed her to find the 5th year Hufflepuff prefect, Rebecca McCullough, who was laughing with a few friends outside under a tree.

"Rebecca?"

The prefect looked over, surprised.

"You're one of Jade's, aren't you?" she said.

"I am," Hermione admitted. "I need help with something that Jade can't exactly help with. Do you mind if I borrow a few minutes of your time?"

Amicably, Rebecca said something to her friends and got to her feet. She was very skinny, and very, very tall, Hermione noticed. She wondered how she found women's robes that fit.

Rebecca led Hermione over to a set of stairs by a side door that they sat down on, and Hermione was grateful she wouldn't have to get a crick in her neck trying to talk to the prefect.

"So what's going on, little snake?" Rebecca said, but her smile was genuine. Hermione offered her a small smile back.

"I had a question," Hermione said. She paused. "You're Muggleborn, right?"

Rebecca looked at her carefully. "I am."

"My parents are Muggles, too," Hermione said promptly. She ignored Rebecca's look of surprise, continuing, "I wanted to know – why don't witches wear makeup?"

Rebecca blinked. "Makeup?"

"You know – foundation, powder, mascara, eye liner… the products you put on your face to make you prettier," Hermione said impatiently. "I haven't seen a witch yet that uses them."

Rebecca blinked. "Huh."

The prefect looked at the wall blankly for a long moment, before looking up and shrugging.

"Truth be told, I don't know why not," she admitted. "I guess I don't because I've never been home long enough anymore to learn how? And no one else does, so there's no pressure to, either. Plus I was 11 when I entered Hogwarts – that's a little young to be playing around with that kind of thing, don't you think?"

Hermione privately agreed, but she'd been a year ahead of her age group in school, and she knew that too young or not, that girls _did_ play around with makeup at this age.

"It doesn't hurt witches or anything, does it?" Hermione asked, and Rebecca laughed.

"No, it doesn't hurt us," she said, amused. Her eyes sparkled. "I wore a little makeup to go to Hogsmeade with a boy, once. He was blown away, but he couldn't quite tell how I looked so pretty." She grinned. "It was fun. But it's a lot of effort to do every day, and when other witches don't bother, why should I?"

"I completely agree," Hermione said, standing up. "Thank you so much for answering my questions. I was very confused, and no one in Slytherin knew what I was talking about or was able to be any help."

"I don't doubt it," the prefect said, getting to her feet. "Let me know if there's anything else I can help with, okay?"

"I will! Thank you!"

That evening, in her room, Hermione laid on her bed, a muggle notebook and fountain pen open beside her, and she stared out into the lake, thinking deeply.

This was an opportunity, she knew. It might have far-reaching effects, but it could help her at least get some seed money for her to grow her much-needed House-founding fortune on. And if nothing else, it would make things a bit more interesting at Hogwarts.

And Hermione was ready to shake things up.


	13. School Pictures

The next day, Hermione took her time getting ready. It was Saturday and being a little tardy didn't matter, so when she came down to breakfast later than usual, all her classmates were already there.

When Tracey turned to say hello, she squeaked and nearly dropped her juice. The others turned toward the squeak, saw Hermione, and did a collective double-take. Hermione was secretly pleased, and took special vindication in Blaise's appreciative gaze and Draco's astonished stare.

"Hermione? What did you _do?_ " Tracey asked reverently, reaching out to touch her hair. "You look so pretty today."

"This? Oh," Hermione said, tossing her hair casually. "Some of the first years are going to take each other's pictures today, so I thought I'd make an effort to look my best."

Hermione's hair, for once, was not a mess of riotous, furious frizz. She'd slept with it in braids after a shower to keep it calm, and then with a heating charm, had used her curling iron to create full, gorgeous ringlets that she'd gently separated and smoothed into soft curls. For the first time, she'd been grateful her mother had pushed her to learn such frivolous things, "just in case". Just the look on Theo's face made all the tedium worth it – his eyes hadn't moved from her since she'd gotten there.

Hermione had also done her makeup – but very, very carefully. She'd shied away from bright colors and liquid eyeliner – the entire point of this was to make herself look beautiful, but _naturally_ beautiful. If anything about her looked artificial, the game would be up.

So it was with great care that Hermione, following the diagrams she had drawn in her notebook, used a light foundation to hide her skin's flaws, highlighted her face, carefully used neutral eyeshadows to make her brown eyes pop, curled her lashes, and used a mascara that lengthened and darkened her eyelashes - but not _too_ much. She'd kept her lips a matte, complementary nude color, and when she was done, even _she_ was taken aback and astonished at the results.

Hermione had felt a wave of disgust that she had bothered to do this. Her own vanity revulsed her. She had to sternly remind herself that this wasn't for _her_ – it was for her plan, for the _others_ , for them to see.

And see they did.

"You look so pretty, Hermione!" Millie said, her eyes wide. "You look different! But… still like you. What did you do?"

"Oh, I just made sure I got a good night's sleep and took the time to take care of my hair this morning," Hermione said, serving herself breakfast. "I'm usually up so late studying, you know? So I always have dark circles under my eyes."

Hermione most certainly did _not_ have dark circles under her eyes on a daily basis, but it seemed a valid enough excuse that Millie slowly nodded and returned to her food.

"There are first years taking portraits today?" Daphne said abruptly.

Everyone looked up.

"Just a few of us," Hermione said slowly, doing her best to hide her surprise that Daphne was speaking to her. "Neville Longbottom was sent a fancy camera from his grandmother, and we thought we'd all take pictures of us to send home and keep of each other."

"Who all will be participating?" Daphne asked, and Hermione could hear the hidden jealousy in her voice.

"Neville, Harry, Ron, Hannah, Ernie, and me," Hermione said, counting them off on her fingers.

"You're friends with Hannah?"

Hermione turned to look at Gregory Goyle, surprised. He'd never spoken to her before.

"We're acquaintances," she told him. "Neville's friends with Hannah and Ernie."

For the first time since she'd been in school, Hermione saw Greg's face soften from a scowl to something almost a smile.

"I know Hannah," he said. He gestured around the table. "She used to go to dancing school with us."

Hermione tucked that little tidbit away to ask Millie about later.

Conversation slowly resumed, allowing Hermione a chance to actually eat, but she was highly aware of all the side glances she was getting from the others. Both Theo and Draco were sneaking looks at her, their faces unreadable, while Blaise didn't even try to hide his appreciative glances. Pansy and Daphne looked torn – Hermione figured their emotions were made up of one part jealousy, and one part desperate longing to know how she did it – and they kept trying _not_ to look, before their eyes were inexorably drawn back.

Hermione gained a slow a sense of satisfaction and confidence during breakfast, at the others' reactions. Her plan was clearly working. There was also, though, a sense of injustice and anger. _This_ is what it had taken, to get the Slytherins to look at her? Looking _pretty?_

Hermione controlled herself, making sure to breathe and look utterly uncaring, keeping her confidence and poise.

* * *

After breakfast, Hermione excused herself to the library, where they were all meeting up. Neville had thought that photos in an academic setting would please his grandmother, and they could take others outside later, if it wasn't raining.

Harry, Neville, and Ron were already waiting when Hermione got to the back of the library, away from the hawkish eyes of Madam Pince. Neville was nervously fiddling with his camera, while Harry looked uncomfortable in his best robes and uniform. Ron was slouching against the stacks, bored, but he looked up when he heard her arrive, before his eyes went wide.

"Bloody hell, Granger," he said, standing up fully. "What did you do?"

"Language, Ronald," Hermione snapped, otherwise ignoring him as she joined the group. Ron continued to stare at her, but Harry offered her a smile.

"You look good, Hermione," he said as he moved to stand next to her, between her and Ron.

"Thanks," Hermione said, smiling back. "I tried."

"Wish guys could wear that sometimes," Harry said quietly, but his eyes were still sparkling. "I'd love to be able to hide this stupid scar."

Hermione offered him an understanding smile.

"You probably could?" she said, shrugging. "People in the wizarding world don't really use makeup, so no one would know that it's generally a 'girl' thing."

Harry made a face. "I would know, though," he admitted. "I think I'd still feel weird about it."

When Neville came back after setting his camera up on a magical tripod, his eyes bulged.

"H-H-Hermione," he said, a blush slowly creeping up his face. "You- you look really pretty."

"Thanks!" Hermione offered him a smile in return, and Neville's blush deepened.

Hermione's satisfaction in her plan slowly grew as Hannah and Ernie reacted with surprise, but then almost a reverence. None of the Purebloods present had any idea what she had done, and only Harry, who had grown up in the Muggle world, seemed to know how she had managed to look so subtly, yet extraordinarily, different.

Ernie ended up largely in charge of the camera, directing each of them to pose in different ways, and in a multitude of ways Hermione hadn't considered. There was the head-on shot, the three-quarters profile, the casual-faked-candid shot, the lounging on the window seat looking outside broodingly shot, the reaching for a book shot… Ernie was creative with it, and Hermione was surprised to realize she was having a lot of fun watching and adding suggestions.

Ernie did the boys first, then the girls; Hannah, then making Hermione go last. Hermione wondered if it was according to some sort of order, or just because he didn't know her well.

Once it was her turn, though, Hermione realized that it was a lot harder than she'd thought. It was hard to give a genuine smile for the length of the exposure, and hard to not start to laugh when she was supposed to be brooding out the window. Reaching for the book and looking through it like she was genuinely researching was difficult. Hermione had forgotten that wizarding photos would move, and she'd only expected to have to hold a pose for a moment – but all Ernie's instructions made a lot more sense, now.

Ernie was having to work a lot harder with her, too. Hermione was embarrassed, but grateful he was hiding his aggravation with her struggling. He had her try a lot more poses than the others, and Hermione could only hope and pray that at least some of the photos came out okay.

Finally, hers were done, and they all gathered together for a final group photo. They pushed Neville to the front (as it was for his grandmother), and Hermione was pleased that she ended up nestled right next to Neville on his left, with Harry on his right. It was a place of honor, showing that she was one of Neville's _best_ friends, and Hermione felt smug that she had beat Ron out for it.

Afterwards, they all stretched, the boys taking off their ties and fancy robes.

"I'll have it developed," Ernie said, nodding to the camera. "I'll give you all a full copy of the photos, and I can give you back the original film too, Neville."

"How long do you think it will take?" Neville asked, and Ernie shrugged.

"Only a couple of weeks, I think," he said. "It's not hard to develop photos, but with classes, I only have so much time, and I want to make sure that they all come out really well."

They broke up to leave the library, drifting off into smaller groups. Hermione went to get her bag, but Ernie caught her wrist, holding her behind. She looked at him with a questioning glance.

"Your parents aren't magical, are they?" he asked. Hermione fought the urge to tense at the question, but Ernie looked genuinely curious.

"No, they're not," she told him, and he nodded, expecting the answer.

"If you want, when they finally give us flying lessons, I can take some pictures of you on a broomstick." He offered her a half smile. "Your parents might like it."

"Oh! Yes!" Hermione's face lit up. "Can we do them so I can send them in time for Halloween? When are flying lessons, anyway?"

"Next week, on Tuesday and Thursday," Ernie told her. Hermione grinned at him.

"This will be great! Thank you so much!"

Impulsively, Hermione threw her arms around him in an impromptu hug, causing Ernie to blush.

"Anytime… Hermione," he told her, with a grin of his own. "My pleasure."


	14. Quidditch Lessons

As Hermione expected, neither Daphne nor Pansy said anything further about how Hermione had looked different, but Hermione didn't care – there was a new respect in how they looked at her, and Pansy's snide remarks had mostly subsided. The others in her house were looking at her as if they'd seen her in a new light, which irritated her even more – they'd noticed her for her _looks_ , but not her grades? Her brains?

Hermione took out a book on great wizards and witches throughout time and examined their portraits, before concluding that objectively, most of them looked very powerful and striking one way or another. Some had very long, dramatic beards, similar to Dumbledore's, some had wild, crazy, kinked hair, and some were just very, very attractive. Hermione looked down at the piercing eyes of one of the wizards in the book, who offered her a smirk, and grimaced. If they were great wizards, they could probably hold a glamour for a long period of time so they could intimidate and impress people. It was an advanced charm, Millicent had said, so Hermione supposed she'd have to work up to it.

Her routine was altered on Thursday when the Slytherin class was directed outside at three-thirty in the afternoon for flying lessons. Hermione was excited to try her hand at flying – only to quickly become apprehensive when she saw the Gryffindors heading over to join them.

Hermione walked a careful tightrope, being friends with the Gryffindors, despite the invisible, unspoken line that divided the houses. On one hand, she was a Slytherin with Slytherin friends and complete house loyalty to Slytherin. On the other, though, her own house ostracized her, and other houses seemed to treat her as an exception to the rule that Slytherins were all snobby and mean. Hermione remained untouched by house rivalries so far, but Hermione was uneasy to see what might happen here. So far, Potions class with the Gryffindors was fine – they were physically separated, so interactions that might turn problematic were limited from the outset within Snape's classroom.

Here, though…

Here, there could be trouble.

Hermione watched as the Gryffindors glanced askance at the leftover broomsticks. Theirs were decidedly less nice than the ones the Slytherins had claimed and traded – Hermione's own broom looked worn but well-kept. The teacher, Madam Hooch, arrived. She had short gray hair, and Hermione noticed her yellow eyes. She made a mental note – either the woman was old and had some sort of medical issue, or she wasn't entirely normal. For all Hermione knew, maybe she was part harpy. Magic didn't seem to have many limits.

"Well, what are you waiting for?" Madam Hooch barked. "Everyone stand by a broomstick. Come on, hurry up."

The Gryffindors, who had been dilly-dallying, hurried over to the leftover brooms.

"Stick out your right hand over your broom," Madam Hooch directed, "and say 'UP!'"

"UP!" everyone shouted.

Hermione was pleased to see that her broom made it up into her hand, though it did so in a weary, reluctant kind of way. Many of the others hadn't made it all the way up – Ron's had rolled over on the ground, and Neville's hadn't moved at all. She was pleased to see Harry had managed to get his into his hand, and she shot him a smile, which he returned with a pleased grin.

Madam Hooch began walking around, showing everyone how to mount their brooms and grip the handle so as not to slip off. Hermione was somewhat alarmed by this – she'd presumed that there was some sort of safety charm built into the broom. Maybe something like training wheels on a bike - they _were_ supposed to be learning how to fly properly, after all.

"Now, when I blow my whistle, you kick off from the ground, hard," said Madam Hooch. "Keep your brooms steady, rise a few feet, then come straight back down by leaning forward slightly. On my whistle- three – two-"

But Neville, nervous and shaking and scared of being left behind, had pushed off hard before Madam Hooch had a chance to bring the whistle to her lips.

"Come back, boy!" she shouted, but Neville kept flying up, looking terrified. Hermione watched as Neville looked down, went pale, and slipped off his broom.

With a nasty crack and a thud, Neville crashed into the ground face-first. Madam Hooch bent over Neville, her face white.

"Broken wrist," she muttered. "Come on boy – it's all right, up you get."

She helped Neville to his feet and leveled a glare at the rest of the class.

"None of you is to move while I take this boy to the hospital wing! You leave those brooms where they are or you'll be thrown out of Hogwarts before you can say 'Quidditch.' Come on, dear."

Hermione bit her lip as Neville hobbled off with Madam Hooch, who was helping him across the grass.

No sooner than they were out of earshot than Draco burst into laughter.

"Did you see his face, the great lump?"

"Shut up, Malfoy," snapped Parvati Patil.

"Ooh, sticking up for Longbottom?" said Pansy. "Never thought _you'd_ like fat little crybabies, Parvati."

Hermione exchanged a look of dread with Tracey as the others kept bickering. When Draco grabbed Neville's Remembrall, she almost intervened, but Tracey held her back.

"It's a stupid toy," she hissed. "It's not worth it, Hermione."

Hermione forced herself to bite her tongue and not say a word, though it got harder when somehow, Draco and Harry had escalated to facing off on broomsticks. It was surreal to watch them – Harry chasing Draco, somehow able to fly as if he'd been doing it his entire life – and then, Harry was diving, racing after the Remembrall, faster than gravity itself, and managed to _catch_ the thing—

"HARRY POTTER!"

Hermione turned to see Professor McGonagall racing towards them, her face hard, her glasses flashing furiously.

" _Never_ \- in all my time at Hogwarts-"

The Gryffindors began objecting, leaping to Harry's defense, but McGonagall grabbed Harry by the arm, hustling him off.

After they had gone, Draco and the others started sniggering once again, but more subdued. One teacher had already seen and intervened, and Slytherins weren't stupid enough to chance it again.

* * *

That evening at dinner, Hermione drifted over to the Gryffindor table to talk to Harry and Neville. The conversation was entirely not what she expected.

"She put you on the Quidditch team?" Hermione repeated. "The _Quidditch_ team?"

"Youngest Seeker in a century," Harry said, grinning. "I start training next week."

Hermione was torn between anger at the blatant rule breaking and relief that her friend had gotten off scot-free. She settled somewhere in the middle.

"Are you at least going to be more careful in the future?" Hermione said with a sigh. "Not antagonize Draco and the others?"

"Malfoy started it!" Ron objected. "He always does!"

"Did I hear my name?"

Hermione turned to see Draco sauntering over, Greg and Vincent in tow.

"Having a last meal, Potter? When are you getting the train back to the Muggles?" Draco said, sneering.

"You're a lot braver now that you're back on the ground and you've got your little friends with you," Harry said coolly, and Hermione had to repress a smirk at that. Judging from the look on Draco's face, he knew it too.

"I'd take you on anytime on my own," Draco challenged. "Tonight, if you want. Wizard's duel. Wands only – no physical contact." He smirked. "What's the matter? Never heard of a wizard's duel before, I suppose?"

"Of course he has," Ron snapped, whirling around to glare. "I'm his second. Who's yours?"

Draco looked over his minions carefully, his eyes pausing on Hermione before looking back to Harry and Ron.

"Granger."

Hermione froze at that pronouncement, shock streaking through her mind like lightning. _Her?_

Harry and Ron looked at Malfoy incredulously, then at each other, before simultaneously protesting. However, the boys' loud objections were interrupted with Hermione's firm, "Absolutely not." She met Draco's eyes steadily.

Draco raised an eyebrow. "Why not, Granger? Scared?"

"I am not about to participate in this sort of activity," she said firmly, "and I'm especially not going to choose to side against my friends or against my house. I'll come to the duel, but I'll be monitoring – I'll play the referee. That fair?"

Harry nodded, and Draco nodded again after a moment.

"Crabbe can be my second," Draco said. "Midnight all right? We'll meet you in the trophy room; that's always unlocked."

They walked away, and Harry turned to Ron. "What _is_ a wizard's duel?"

As Ron explained the intricacies, Hermione considered. What spells had they even learned in class, besides _Lumos_? Hermione knew every spell in her first year spell books, but she doubted Harry knew anything further than what their classes had covered.

"You'll probably just send sparks at each other," Ron concluded, reassuring Harry.

Harry did not look reassured.

Hermione sighed.

"Look," she said. "No matter what happens, we'll both be there to take Draco down a peg if need be. Even if you can't cast any spells, I can hit him with a Leg-Lock Jinx if he looks like he's going to hurt you, and then you can do whatever you want."

Harry visibly cheered at this. He went back to talking about Quidditch, and Hermione left, rolling her eyes.

Still, though. Draco had chosen _her,_ first, even though he wouldn't speak to her voluntarily, or even register her existence unless forced to. But he had chosen _her._

If that wasn't recognition that she was the best witch in their class, she didn't know what was.


	15. The Midnight Duel

Hermione dressed herself carefully for her first wizard's duel, though she wasn't expected to fight in it. She was torn between the practicality and mobility of Muggle clothes and the importance of appearance and the appropriate gravitas that robes provided. She eventually settled on wearing her robes over top of a black jumper and black denims. It was going to be dark, anyways; the others probably wouldn't notice her clothing at all.

Escaping the dungeons and creeping up through the castle to the seventh floor was an adventure all its own. Hermione took care to be as careful and as quiet as possible, trying to blend into the shadows, pretending she was a ninja. Though she had to narrowly avoid Filch, she managed to make it to her destination on time and uncaught.

She was amused to meet Harry and Ron outside their common room, both wearing their pajamas and bathrobes.

"Nice dueling outfits," she commented, raising an eyebrow. "Very intimidating. I'm sure Malfoy will be awed."

"Oh, shut it, Hermione," Ron grumbled, but Harry had the grace to look abashed.

As they quietly crept down the corridor, Harry froze, shoving them both back behind him.

"I heard something," he said, his eyes wide. He leaned forward, curious, only to spring back as Neville leapt up in front of them.

Hermione lingered in the back of the group, unable to refrain from rolling her eyes as the Gryffindors quickly talked in a hush. Neville had forgotten the password, apparently, and been _locked out_ of his common room. She wondered if it had ever occurred to him to _knock._ Or find Professor McGonagall, for that matter.

Somehow, it was decided that Neville would accompany them, as he didn't want to be alone, and the Fat Lady of their portrait wasn't in her frame anymore. Hermione wondered what snide remark Draco would make about this new development.

They crept along the corridors, striped with bars of moonlight from the high windows. They sped up a staircase and tiptoed toward the trophy room.

Draco and Vincent weren't there yet. Hermione entertained herself by looking around at all the trophies. There were certainly a lot of them, for various different things, though most seemed very old. One of the more recent ones was an award for "Special Services to the School," which Hermione thought sounded almost like someone had maxed doing their hours of community service on Hogwarts. The most interesting trophy was for "Combat Potions," dated in 1394, and had a horrific figure half-melting on the top of the trophy instead of the usual victorious angel.

"He's late," Ron whispered. "Maybe he's chickened out."

Hermione looked around. There was no sign or sound of Draco.

A certain sense of dread began to close in on her. Draco wouldn't have chickened out – not if he intended the duel to be real…

"It's a trap," she hissed. "We have to get out—"

There was a noise in the next room that made them jump. Harry raised his wand when they heard someone speak – and it wasn't Malfoy.

"Sniff around, my sweet, they might be lurking in a corner."

It was Filch talking to Mrs. Norris.

Horror-struck, Harry waved madly at them to follow him as quickly as possible; they scurried silently toward the door, away from Filch's voice. They'd only just rounded the corner when they heard Filch enter the room from the other side.

"They're in here somewhere," they heard him mutter. "Probably hiding."

Harry gestured to them, and they began to creep down a long gallery full of suits of armor. They could hear Filch getting nearer. Neville suddenly let out a frightened squeak and broke into a run – he tripped, grabbed Ron about the waist, and the pair of them toppled right into a suit of armor.

The resulting clamor could have been heard from Hogsmeade.

"RUN!" Harry yelled, and the four of them sprinted off, Hermione simultaneously torn between yelling at the three of the boys for being so noisy and considering if she should ditch them and run in a different direction – knowing she'd be much quieter on her own.

It was the memory of Ron sneering at her in the library, saying that she'd betray them, that kept her reluctantly keeping pace with her friends.

They paused against a wall, struggling to catch their breath, Neville wheezing.

"I think we've lost him," Harry panted. Hermione scowled.

"Draco tricked you," she told him. "He tricked us. He was never going to duel at all. Filch knew someone was going to be in the trophy room – Draco must have tipped him off."

From the dark look on Harry's face, Hermione knew he had come to the same realization.

A moment later, Peeves was interfering and challenging Ron, and Hermione groaned. She stretched a little, preparing herself, and when Peeves began to yell, she took off right next to Harry, who led the way.

They slammed into a locked door at the end of the corridor, and Ron moaned as they pushed helplessly at the door.

"This is it! We're done for! This is the end!"

"Spare me your dramatics," Hermione snarled, shoving him aside. She whipped out her wand, tapping the lock. " _Alohomora!"_

The lock clicked and the door swung open. They piled through it and shut it quickly. The boys all pressed their ears to it, listening, while Hermione stared into the room.

There was a dog there.

A very, very large dog, quite possibly as tall as a bus.

With three heads.

The dog seemed surprised that they'd abruptly burst into its room, which gave them a moment of comparative safety, Hermione supposed. Then the dog shook its heads and snarled, drool leaving its massive mouths and dripping down to the ground.

Hermione's eye watched as one strand of drool landed on a metal ring on the floor, and her eyes widened.

 _That_ was a trap door.

The creature was _guarding_ something.

The monstrous dog snarled again, and this time, Harry turned around with a _"What?"_ and saw the monstrous dog, his face going white. As the dog growled, Harry groped for the doorknob while Ron whimpered, and they all fell back through the doorway as fast as they could.

Hermione was the last out, and she slammed the door behind her, before taking care to lock it once again. When she looked up, she was dismayed to see that the other three had left her, sprinting at full speed for the Gryffindor tower.

It was with an angry scowl that she stalked back down to the Slytherin common room, her black robes billowing behind her. She'd gone with them, _saved_ them, and they had abandoned _her?_ Hermione didn't intend to let Ron forget this, and she planned on guilt tripping him for it as long as possible.

Her ire gradually began to diminish as the time of night caught up to her, and her angry thoughts gradually subsided into a sort of sleepy curiosity.

What could that dog be guarding? It had to be _something._

And _why_ had she been able to open the door with _Alohomora?_ Surely if it were anything important, they'd have used a proper magically-resistant lock, not one a _first-year spell_ could get through.

Her eyes widened as a thought occurred to her.

Maybe someone was _supposed_ to get through.

A tremor of excitement ran through her as she whispered the password to the wall, letting her into the common room.

As she changed and laid down in her bed, her mind was still racing. She wondered over it as she levitated a small pile of books, managing to hold it for nearly three minutes.

She'd already learned that things were done differently, here. The Forbidden Forest wasn't so forbidden if you had detention, for example, or if your Creatures class instructed you to go in there. Bullying was dealt with by students, not teachers. Maybe extra credit was gained through obstacle courses that involved dramatic and dangerous things?

The dog had been horrifying, but upon further consideration, not the _worst_ thing. There could have been a dragon who could have immediately roasted her alive, Hermione reflected. It could have been a lot worse.

Besides. She was sure she had heard of a three-headed dog somewhere, before. She just couldn't remember where.

Hermione eventually drifted off, thoughts of dragons and dogs following her into her sleep.


	16. Witchy Photos

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lovely illustration by the wonderful Ivar Yves! Check out her work at https://www.instagram.com/IvarYves/ <3 :)

Judging from Draco's dismayed scowl the next morning at breakfast, he'd been expecting them all to get caught. Hermione took particular pleasure in eating her breakfast slowly and obviously, striking up a conversation with Millie about wizard duels in general, and showing off her magic by casually levitating the croissants over to her, making Draco's eyes widen at her display of power – they hadn't covered levitation in Charms yet.

After classes, Hermione immediately went hunting for Ernie Macmillan, surprised but pleased to find him studying with some other Hufflepuffs under a tree outside.

"We've learned to ride broomsticks, now," Hermione said, smiling. "Will you still take my photo? My parents would love it."

Ernie looked up and grinned back at her.

"Sure," he said. "Saturday okay?"

"Saturday's perfect," Hermione agreed. "Right after breakfast?"

One of the other Hufflepuffs was peering at her oddly, and after a moment, finally interrupted, "Your parents would love it?"

Hermione turned to give him a slow, measuring look, and he flushed.

"Yes," she said slowly, drawing it out. "What of it?"

The boy swallowed.

"Haven't they ever seen you on a broomstick before?" he asked.

Ernie cringed.

"Seeing as they're Muggles, no, I daresay they haven't," Hermione said, her tone dangerous. "What of it?"

The boy looked confused, and a couple others at the table had leaned in, curious despite themselves.

"But you're in Slytherin," he objected. "Slytherin never takes Muggleborns."

Hermione raised an eyebrow at him.

"And?"

He stared at her.

"But you… your parents…"

Hermione rolled her eyes and turned to Ernie, ignoring the boy.

"I'll see you Saturday," she told him. "Should I bring anything?"

"I'll bring a broom," he told her. "Bring your hat, robes, and, um, something to tie your hair back with, maybe? In case it's windy out." He grinned at her. "This will be fun. I've never taken posed photos of someone on a broom before."

As Hermione left to go to the library, she could catch snippets of the Hufflepuffs' conversation, wondering aloud at her blood status and how she'd gotten into Slytherin.

She wondered if they'd make the logical leap, but she doubted it. She'd have to help them along and plant a seed of doubt with them, too, making them believe she was New Blood.

Not that it would be hard – that boy had already done most of her work for her.

On Saturday, Hermione did her hair and makeup again, and this time, took care to dress… a little oddly.

"What are you wearing?" Ernie said, blatantly staring at her as Hermione approached him on the Quidditch pitch. "Isn't it a bit cold out for that?"

Hermione grinned.

"Muggles imagine witches wearing black dresses and striped tights or socks," Hermione explained. "I didn't have tights, but I was able to charm a pair of socks."

Ernie's eyes stayed wide, but he didn't contradict her, and Hermione pulled down the back of her dress. It was a bit short.

Hermione was regretting her decision shortly thereafter. Posing on the broom was difficult. It was hard to balance in a way that seemed natural if the broom wasn't moving, similar to how it was hard to balance on a bicycle without it being in motion. And it was even harder to smile that entire time. Ernie had her do a couple slow loops, her toes just skimming the grass, to have some action shots instead of just her hovering, and that was even harder to look good doing, seeing as her knuckles were white from clutching the broom so hard. Flying wasn't something that came naturally to Hermione, though she was doing her best to hide her anxiety from her face.

Frustrated, Hermione went off to the broom cupboard and brought back another two brooms, carefully setting them all to hover in a neutral state, one behind the other.

"Here," she said. She laid down lengthwise on the broom, posing on her side, and adjusted the other two brooms to allow her weight to be spread out and evenly balanced. "If you get this from the right angle, you won't be able to see that there's three brooms here supporting me instead of just one."

Ernie obliged, though he looked puzzled by the pin-up type pose Hermione had wanted, but Hermione was relieved she'd finally got at least one "casual witch" shot on the broom to send her family for Halloween. She knew they'd be tickled pink.

"So, Hermione," Ernie said, walking back with her as they put away the brooms. "Justin keeps wondering, and he's got me curious too, now."

"Justin?"

"The boy who was asking you about your parents the other day," Ernie explained. "He's obsessed with the idea of a Muggleborn in Slytherin. His parents are Muggles too, you know."

"No, I didn't know." Hermione fixed Ernie with a look as they headed back up to the castle, and he squirmed. "Are you asking me anything, Ernie, or are you just fishing?"

Ernie looked slightly abashed, but drew himself up.

"Hermione," he said finally. "How is it that a Muggleborn was sorted into Slytherin?"

Hermione gave him a nasty smile.

"Don't be ridiculous," she said haughtily. "Muggleborns are never sorted into Slytherin."

Ernie looked incredulous. "But – you're Slytherin. And your parents are Muggles."

Hermione inclined her head. "This is all true."

Ernie threw his hands up. "Then how? The facts contradict each other! This makes no sense."

Hermione took a step closer to Ernie, perfectly aware she was uncomfortably close. Ernie's eyes widened.

"You're making a false assumption," Hermione murmured, her eyes holding his. "You're presuming that everyone magical who has muggle parents is a Muggleborn."

Ernie took a sharp breath.

"And… they're not?"

"Not everyone." Hermione looked up at him through her lashes, watching as he swallowed hard. His pupils dilated.

Ernie's voice was a strangled whisper. "What… what are you, then?"

Hermione met his eyes.

"I'm New Blood."

Hermione broke away from him before he could reply or ask anything else, entering the castle and quickly dodging out of the way as the door started to close, hiding behind a large suit of armor. Ernie was inside a moment later, looking around wildly. Hermione held her breath.

Ernie seemed astonished, then resolute. He left the front hall, heading presumably for the Hufflepuff common room, and Hermione exhaled, pleased with herself. Dramatic exits always gave your words more weight. Hopefully Ernie would tell his friend, who would tell someone else, who would tell someone else, until everyone had heard.


	17. The Trade

Later that day, Hermione went down to the Slytherin common room, determined.

"Hey, Blaise?"

Blaise Zabini looked up at her as Hermione approached him on one of the sofas. His eyes widened in surprise, and then he looked pleased.

"Miss Hermione Granger," he said, giving her a grin. "How can I help you today?"

"You're… from Italy?" Hermione guessed. "Somewhere on the continent?"

Blaise looked less enthusiastic, he but nodded. "Italy. Why?"

"I know I've read about this creature somewhere once before, but for the life of me, I can't remember what it's called," Hermione explained, pushing over a sketchbook drawing she had toiled over. "Do you recognize this?"

Blaise took the drawing and looked it over, before looking at her and raising an eyebrow, amused. "Is this supposed to be recognizable as anything except scribbles?"

Hermione flushed. "I did my best. But look," she moved over closed to him, crouching by him on the couch and pointing. "It's a giant dog that has three heads. See? It's about this size proportionately to a human, and the faces look like this, if that helps you identify a breed."

Blaise studied the picture for a long moment before nodding slowly. "I see what you mean."

"And?"

Blaise handed the drawing back to her, giving her a cheeky grin.

"And if I help you with this, what will you give me in return?"

Hermione bit back the urge to retort. Instead, she forced herself to give him a coy smile back, as if she was perfectly accustomed to playing the Slytherin game.

"What would you want?" she murmured. Blaise looked surprised at this answer. He paused to consider.

"What would I want, what would I want…?" he considered. He glanced over her, and Hermione forced herself not to flinch as he gave her a smirk. "A kiss will do."

Hermione couldn't stop her reaction. "A _kiss?_ "

"Not now, if you don't want to," he assured her. "But… when you're ready. I want to have your first kiss."

"How do you know I haven't already had one?" Hermione challenged.

Blaise paused to consider, before his eyes gleamed.

"If you had, you wouldn't have hesitated to agree before," he told her. "Girls make a big deal out of their first kiss, but not their second, third, or fourth. So you haven't."

" _Why?"_ Hermione asked.

He shrugged.

"A girl always remembers her first kiss," he told her, his eyes on hers. "I want to make you remember me."

His tone was casual, playful, and he was wearing a smirk, but Hermione could hear a note in his voice behind his words that betrayed him. He… he actually _wanted_ to kiss her.

Hermione didn't know much about Blaise, save his mother's reputation as a seductress and a man-killer. From Blaise's flirting, she'd presumed that Blaise intended to place himself into a similar role, but…

Well. It was okay for a boy to want his first kiss to mean something, too.

"A proper first kiss when I'm older," Hermione said quickly, before she realized what she was saying. "A small one on the cheek now, as a promise for later."

"Deal," Blaise said immediately, his eyes lighting up.

He offered his face, a lingering smile on his lips, and with a quick glance around the room, Hermione moved forward, pressing her lips to his cheek.

It was a quick kiss, barely a moment, but one of the third-year Slytherins whistled, and Hermione broke away, embarrassed. Blaise only grinned.

"It's from Greek mythology," he told her. "A three-headed dog guarded the cave to the underworld. It guarded Hades' realm. Some legends say it had snakes for a tail." Blaise shrugged and gave her a smile. "That's all I know. That enough?"

"Mythology…" Hermione murmured, her mind racing. "That's… thanks! I've got to go!"

Hermione darted off to grab her bag from her room, Blaise calling a "You're welcome!" after her as she ran.

Random unheard of magical creatures? No idea.

But _mythology?_ Hermione knew where to start researching there.


	18. Wingardium Leviosa

Time flew by without Hermione realizing it. Classes kept her occupied, her additional spellbooks and research filled her free time, and her friends kept her feeling less alone than she'd ever felt before. Now that she'd 'officially' consorted with Blaise Zabini, he frequently joined her, Tracey, and Millie, though he practiced flirting outrageously with them all. They would play Exploding Snap together in the common room, or, very rarely, hide in an abandoned classroom and do their homework.

"You can't ever let people know you have to _work_ on something," Blaise told her, very casually. "The best wizards are just naturally capable, and having to do _work_ is something servants do. We all know we have to do work, but we can do our best to hide it for as long as possible."

Hermione had held back a retort. The fifth year O.W.L. students certainly didn't seem to care about hiding their feverish studying anymore.

The three-headed dog was a Cerberus, Hermione discovered. In Greek mythology, he guarded the way to the underworld, and he had only been passed a few times in history. Once was by Heracles, who seemed to defeat him with brute strength, and once was by Orpheus, who had sung to the beast while playing on his lyre, lulling the monster to sleep.

If she was ever going to try and get past the giant dog to win this obstacle course, she would probably need to go the music route. Hermione doubted she'd be able to get her hands on the creature's lead before it ate her.

Hermione was also gradually expanding her network of acquaintances, though she wouldn't quite call them friends. Ernie and Hannah caught up with her after class to chat about lessons, and Terry Boot had asked if she wanted to study with him for Defense a time or two. The other Slytherins seemed suspicious of this – they by large kept only to themselves, only having friends inside Slytherin house – but Hermione was eager for any connections she could get.

Ernie had also given her a set of the photos from the photo shoots, both the broom one and the one in the library, and Hermione had been pleasantly surprised. They'd turned out _much_ better than she'd expected, even the ones on the broom. The animation of her smirking and flying off was brilliant, and a bit surreal, if she was honest with herself. She'd kept a set for herself and sent a few to her family, wishing them a happy Halloween.

When Halloween finally arrived, Hermione had a low level of excitement running through her all day. There was to be a feast at dinner, and Hermione felt a magical sort of anticipation, as if something was going to happen.

Breakfast was wonderful, her classmates sharing in her excitement, no matter how much they tried to hide it. Theo was even publicly talking to her, mentioning his family's Samhain traditions and how Hogwarts' celebrations were more low-key. Draco kept looking over at her, as if he wanted to say something, but he kept it to himself, and Hermione felt a twinge of disappointment as he turned to talk to Pansy instead.

In Charms class, Flitwick announced that they were ready to start making objects fly, to the great excitement of the class. He paired them up, settling Hermione with Blaise, and instructed them to try and levitate the feather on the top of their desk.

Hermione raised an eyebrow and gestured for Blaise to go first. She'd mastered this charm months ago, and though it had been a hard-won victory, she could levitate a small stack of books now. A feather would be nothing.

The rest of the room struggled with it. Hermione watched with amusement as Pansy prodded her feather and accidentally set it on fire, Daphne slapping it with her textbook to put it out. Most of the feathers barely moved.

"This is stupid," Blaise muttered, gritting his teeth. She smirked, and he glared at her. "Oh, don't laugh. _You_ do it if you're so special."

Hermione rolled her eyes, produced her wand, and gave it an elegant swish and flick.

_"Wingardium Leviosa."_

The feather flew, and with dexterous control, Hermione sent it after Blaise, tickling his nose until he sneezed and laughed.

"Oh! Look! Miss Granger's got it!"

Flitwick beamed with pride, and Hermione felt embarrassed for a moment, for him to be proud of her doing something so simple.

"You're even controlling its path," Flitwick said proudly. "Five points to Slytherin. Well done."

Hermione settled the feather back onto the table, giving Blaise a look. Blaise sighed and took up his wand again, resuming his efforts.

"For the rest of class, why don't you try to levitate your quill?" Flitwick suggested. "It's quite a bit heavier than a feather, so-"

Her quill was in the air before Flitwick had finished speaking, and she gave him an expectant look. Flitwick blinked.

"Ah- your inkwell?"

Her inkwell joined the floating quill, and Hermione could see real excitement in Flitwick's eyes.

"Your spellbook?"

Getting the spellbook to float while already holding two other things aloft was harder, but Hermione managed it, careful to keep a calm smile on her lips as she did, not letting anyone else see her struggle. When she sent all three to circle Flitwick's head, he clapped his hands with a laugh.

"Oh, well done, Miss Granger! Twenty points to Slytherin, for sheer skill! Why don't you help the others – you've obviously got the hang of it!"

He went off to help Tracey, who was glaring at her feather as if it had personally offended her, and Hermione allowed herself a moment to feel smug.

Turning, she caught Draco's eye. He was staring at her, his face inscrutable. With a pause, still flush with pride, Hermione carefully stood and made her way to the higher tiers of the class.

The others were too busy trying to float their own feathers to notice, but Draco's and Theo's eyes tracked her all the way up. She started moving toward them, making both of their eyes widen, before she stopped, next to Crabbe and Goyle.

Goyle was trying to make his feather fly by blowing it into the air as subtly as he could, while Crabbe had given up and was coloring his feather in with ink. Hermione gestured toward them wordlessly and raised an eyebrow at Draco, and saw as comprehension crossed his face.

To her annoyance, he looked torn, and Hermione felt a rush of rage. _Still_ , he doubted her? Just because of his weird hang-ups about the cleanliness of her blood? Counting to five in her head, Hermione took a slow breath in, held it, and let it out.

"If they're holding Slytherin back, does it really matter who helps them?" she said quietly, holding Draco's eyes with hers. "Are you really so set on your baseless judgement of me that you'd let them suffer? Let the whole _house_ suffer?"

Draco bit his lip and glanced at Theo, who inclined his head, demurring comment. Hermione watched as an internal struggle waged itself across his face, before, with a dramatic sigh, he waved at her, granting her permission.

"I suppose tutoring from you couldn't make them any _worse_ ," he said, with a sneer aimed at the two boys. "And it could very likely help matters at least a little bit."

Hermione inclined her head back to him, the only grace she could manage in her irritation.

_Prat._

Vincent and Greg looked confused when she sat down between them, but amenable enough once she explained she was going to help them. The first thing was making sure they had the proper wand movement down; the second was realizing they had accidentally swapped wands.

By the end of the class, Greg was able to do the proper wand movement and pronunciation, and Vincent was able to do the proper swish and flick. It wasn't much, but when only three people in the class had managed to do the spell at all, it seemed like progress to Hermione.


	19. Halloween

Hermione's happiness at her victory in Charms class was short-lived, however, by Potions.

The potion was simple enough – a Pepper-Up Potion – but most of the class kept confusing their beetle shells with preserved scarabs and miscounting their stirs. She and Theo finished in half the time, with a perfect potion. Snape approved of the potion, nodding once over their cauldron, before, for perhaps the first time ever, directing them to help their useless classmates, as he "couldn't possibly keep _every_ idiot from mucking it all up at this rate."

Hermione and Theo exchanged a wordless look, before Theo went for the Slytherin side of the classroom, Hermione walking over to the Gryffindor side.

Everyone had recently started over, it seemed, and, judging from the frantic looks on faces and sweat coating brows, likely not for the first time. Hermione gently dissuaded two Gryffindor girls from putting in the wrong ingredient and helped them line up all their ingredients in the order they'd need them, receiving a grateful look in response. Dean Thomas and his partner just needed correction on their stirring speed and what "counter-clockwise" meant. Snape was berating Neville Longbottom, who had turned his cauldron into slowly-spreading red sludge, so it was with caution that Hermione carefully stepped around to Harry and Ron's cauldron.

Immediately, Hermione noticed problems: their ingredients weren't prepared correctly, their cauldron was set at the wrong temperature, and they had an oak stirring rod instead of a proper rowan one. Hermione stepped next to Harry, correcting him on how to cut and chop and crush the ingredients needed. As she pointed out the flame was too hot, which would cause everything to react faster and not mature for the needed time, she noticed Ron's face was red. By the time she got to the stirring rod, explaining that they had grabbed the wrong one, Ron was nearly shaking. Hermione felt a moment of pity; she'd be embarrassed if she'd gotten everything wrong, too, but she was their friend, so surely it wasn't that bad?

Hermione returned to her seat after helping her classmates to get started on her homework assignment. The rest of class passed uneventfully, save Neville's cauldron beginning to rumble like a volcano. After class, they all spilled out into the hallway, eager to get to the Halloween feast, Hermione following behind the crush of students.

"It's no wonder no one can stand her!"

Hermione's heart stopped. She edged forward, craning her neck around Goyle to see.

"She's a nightmare, honestly!" Ron was ranting to Harry. "No wonder the Slytherins don't want to be her friend!"

The venom in his tone caught her off guard, and betrayal lanced across Hermione's heart, sharp and painful. She could feel that her eyes were welling up, to her mortification, and she shoved past them, hurrying to get out of the hallway. There were other Slytherins here – she couldn't let them see her cry. She _couldn't_.

"I think she heard you," she heard Harry say behind her, but Hermione ran on.

She locked herself in the first girl's bathroom she came to and sank to the ground in a corner, crying into her knees. She'd thought they were _friends_. Not great, mind you, but they all studied and did homework together. And with her being in Slytherin, it wasn't like she _had_ many friends. She cherished the few close ones she'd made (she _thought_ she'd made) in Gryffindor - but Ron had been so _vicious_ , and she'd only been trying to _help!_

Hermione stayed there, crying as quietly as she could. All her frustration at not being included and at Ron's hurtful words seeped out in the form of tears, and for once, it felt _good_ to let go and not care about keeping up a strong front.

Hermione heard someone come in, and to her horror, it was Daphne.

"…Hermione?"

Hermione looked up defiantly, tears still brimming in her eyes. "What?"

Daphne looked thrown. "Are… are you okay?"

Hermione bit her lip and tried not to burst into tears again. "…No."

Daphne looked very uncomfortable. With a careful look back at the door, she sank to the ground next to Hermione, looking her in the face.

"What happened?"

Hermione blinked. It was very rare for Daphne to even look at her, let alone speak to her.

Haltingly, Hermione related what had happened in Potions class and Ron's vitriol afterwards. Daphne's face grew harder.

"Weasley is a piece of trash," she said. "You're worth _ten_ of him. A hundred, even. Don't let him get to you. How _dare_ he."

Hermione felt partially better, just hearing the venom in Daphne's tone. It felt _good_ to know that someone else was angry and upset for her – even as weird as it was to have _Daphne_ supporting her in her time of need.

"Weasley will get what's coming to him," Daphne pronounced. She stood. "Take your time here, Hermione – the feast will last for an hour. Come up after you've cleaned yourself up a bit and can sit there like his words meant nothing – like a proud Slytherin should."

Hermione nodded, sniffing. Daphne looked like she was considering something.

"…It's okay to cry, you know," she told her finally. "Just… only around friends and house mates, you know? Never let them know they got to you. That's how you let them win."

Daphne left the bathroom after that pronouncement, leaving Hermione to stare after her, wiping her eyes.

* * *

Ten minutes later, Hermione was feeling much better.

She'd splashed her face with water, and the puffy redness in her eyes was almost gone. She was hoping with all the flickering candlelight in the Great Hall that no one would be able to tell, when she heard a loud rumble, and a horrible, rancid smell reached her nose.

She slowly turned around.

There was a troll in the bathroom.

It stood nearly twelve feet tall, with its skin a mottled gray, its great lumpy body like a boulder with its small bald head perched on top like a coconut. The smell coming from it was horrendous. It was holding a huge, wooden club, dragging it along the floor as it walked.

Its eyes seemed to swim, before they focused on Hermione, and it lurched towards her.

She screamed.

Hermione scrambled for cover under a sink, her mind racing. The creature could reach anything in the bathroom, including her – how could she possibly escape?

The creature grunted and bashed a sink out the wall next to her, the porcelain loudly clanging to the ground, and Hermione screamed again, dashing out and crouching against the wall. The troll continued knocking sinks out of the wall as it advanced toward her, sending water spraying everywhere, and Hermine felt faint.

A loud noise came from the other side of the bathroom, and as the troll turned to look, Hermione took her chance. Climbing up on one of the few remaining sinks, she jumped and hung on to the door of the bathroom cubicle, before swinging a leg up to straddle it. Carefully, very carefully, she pulled herself towards the wall and pulled herself up using a wall sconce, before reaching for the ledge around the top of the bathroom.

Hermione had never been very strong, and had never been able to do more than three pull-ups at a time, but in this instance, fear was a great motivator, and Hermione climbed up on top of the ledge.

Leaning against the wall and taking deep breaths, Hermione looked, suddenly realizing there were other people in the bathroom now – Harry and Neville had appeared, and they were throwing things at the troll. Hermione watched as Harry took a great running jump at the troll as it started for Neville, and the troll suddenly howled in pain, thrashing about. It seemed Harry's wand had gone up its nose.

_"Wingardium Leviosa!"_

Hermione was surprised to see Neville with his wand in the air, looking shocked by his own actions, but he directed the floating piece of rubble to crash into the troll, to no obvious effect.

Neville's casting sparked a memory and Hermione whipped out her own wand.

"Harry, jump! _Incendio!_ "

With a yell, Harry dived off the troll as its clothes caught fire, the smell of burning flesh starting to permeate the room. Hermione could see the moment the troll realized and went to make for the sinks.

_"Wingardium Leviosa!"_

Hermione felt the spell take hold as she arrested the troll's club. The troll stopped and seemed surprised by the abrupt loss of his club, even as he burned. He yelled, swiping the air for it, and Hermione let it hover for a long moment, waiting, before letting it crash down onto the troll's head.

The troll's eyes rolled up, and it crashed into the ground face-first. There was a long moment as they watched the flames die in a puddle of water, everyone waiting to see what would happen, before Harry carefully crept towards it.

"Is it dead?"

"I think it's just knocked out," Hermione ventured, and Harry whipped around to glance up at her. The quirk of his lips told her he hadn't realized where she'd gone. She watched as Harry carefully removed his wand from the troll's nose and wiped it on the troll's trousers.

"Why is there a _troll_ in the school?" Hermione asked finally. "Are we supposed to kill it?"

"I am surprised, Miss Granger, that it did not kill _you_."

The three turned to look at the doorway, where Professor Snape, Professor McGonagall, and Professor Quirrell were standing. Professor Quirrell looked at the troll, whimpered, and sank down onto a toilet, and Hermione snorted in disgust.

Harry's eyes went wide. "How long have you been there?"

The professors ignored his question. Snape advanced toward the troll and bent over it. McGonagall was looking at them all, looking furious. Her lips were white, she was so angry.

"What on earth were you thinking?" she said, cold fury in her voice. Her eyes scanned over Neville and Harry, making them both flinch. "You're lucky you weren't killed. Why aren't you in your dormitory?"

Professor Snape was looking at Hermione expectantly. With a sigh, Hermione sat down on the ledge, resisting the urge to swing her feet.

"Professor McGonagall, I suspect they were looking for _me."_

Professor McGonagall looked up, raising a prim eyebrow.

"And why, Miss Granger, were you not in _your_ dormitory?"

Hermione bit her lip, looked to Neville and Harry, and took a careful breath.

"I never made it to the feast," she admitted. "I was in here, crying, since the end of classes. Ron said something horrible about me, and I hid so no one would see my tears."

Hermione watched as Professor McGonagall's face shifted from fury to horror to pity, though she could tell she was trying not to react.

"Miss Granger…" Professor McGonagall's voice was softer, now.

"I had just cleaned up and was going to join the feast when the troll came in. I had no idea there was a troll loose at all, or I would have been in my dormitory, I promise you."

Professor McGonagall rounded on Neville and Harry, fixing them with a stern eye.

"And I expect _you_ two just had to come and save her?"

Obviously nervous, they babbled out something about overhearing one of the Slytherin girls tell another one that Hermione had been crying, and they realized she didn't know about the troll and was in danger. Neville was blushing horribly while trying to get the story out, while Harry looked defiant.

With a sigh, Professor McGonagall pinched the bridge of her nose.

"Well, I still say you were lucky, but not many first years could have taken on a full-grown mountain troll. You each win Gryffindor five points, and Miss Granger, five points to Slytherin. Professor Dumbledore will be informed of this. You may go."

They shuffled out, Neville casting a fearful glance back at Snape as they left. Quirrell managed to get to his feet and stagger out after them, leaving Hermione alone in the bathroom with Snape and an unconscious troll.

Snape raised an eyebrow at Hermione. "Can you get down?"

"I'm not sure," Hermione admitted. "I was mostly running on adrenaline when I got up here. I'm not sure I'm dexterous enough to climb back down."

With a sigh, Snape muttered something beneath his breath, and he began to rise.

Hermione stared, unable to help herself. She'd never seen a person fly before, not without some sort of broom. But Snape – he was just floating up –

He reached the ledge, and, fixing her with a resigned look, opened his arms. Hermione hesitated only a moment before hurling herself into them, hugging him tightly around the waist.

"There will be no discussion of this with your classmates, Miss Granger." His voice was dark.

"Never," Hermione promised, as he led them into a slow descent. "I'll keep your secrets, I promise."

There was a bump as they landed, and Hermione let go, taking a step back. Snape's eyes were on her, inscrutable.

"Thank you for rescuing me," she said politely, and Snape snorted.

"If there were ever a student less in need of rescuing, it would be you, Miss Granger," he said. "I just opted for the path of least destruction – who knows what further property damage you would cause, getting down from there."

Hermione blinked in surprise, and Snape's mouth curled up at one corner, into the smallest smirk.

"Ten points to Slytherin for quick thinking and recognizing when to strategically retreat," he said. There was a pause, and his eyes hardened. "And twenty points from Gryffindor for bullying."

Hermione shivered at the murderous look in Snape's eyes. She didn't envy Ron one bit.


	20. The Ritual

The rest of the feast was being held in the common rooms, and when Hermione returned to the depths of the castle, there was a moment of silence as her classmates took in her appearance – covered in water and porcelain dust as she was. Hermione walked defiantly, regardless of the white powder clinging to her hair and the state of her robes. She'd just fought a troll and _won._ She could look a mess if she wanted to.

She stalked towards her dormitory, whispers following her as she left.

As she changed, Tracey and Millie wandered in, one of them carrying a plate. They sat on Hermione's bed, watching as she pulled on fresh robes.

"What happened?" Tracey said finally. Hermione cast her a look.

"A troll wandered into the bathroom I was in," Hermione said. "That's what happened."

Millie and Tracey's eyes went huge, and Hermione found herself telling them exactly what had happened. Tracey had brought a plate of food for Hermione, and Hermione used some of the sweets to show them the exact layout of the bathroom.

"You say Harry and Neville tried to rescue you?" Tracey said. She exchanged a look with Millie. "That's pretty daring."

"It was pretty stupid of them," Hermione corrected. "Still, I'm glad they did it." She paused. "Though, I'm not sure if they were motivated so much out of heroism and friendship as much as guilt for what Ron said."

Tracey and Millie's faces darkened immediately.

"He is our enemy, now," Millie pronounced, something dangerous in her tone.

"Who's our enemy, now?" Pansy said as she entered the room, tossing her hair. Daphne wasn't far behind her.

"Ronald Weasley," Tracey said. "For his offenses against Hermione and our house."

Daphne turned to look at them, before moving over and joining them on Hermione's bed. She looked at Pansy expectantly, who huffed but joined them as well.

"Well?" Daphne prompted.

Hesitating at first, but gaining strength as she went, Hermione told the story of the bathroom and the troll again. The other girls gasped as she described the way it crushed the sink next to her, and there were genuine expressions of terror and shock as she described climbing out of the way and the boys' fight with the beast. When she told them how she lit it on fire and knocked it out with its own club, their expressions turned to admiration and wary respect.

"And you were in there because of Ron Weasley?" Pansy said, raising an eyebrow.

Hermione bit her lip, before nodding.

"He said 'It's no wonder no one can stand me,'" Hermione recited. "That 'I'm a nightmare' and 'no wonder the Slytherins don't want to be my friend'."

The other girls exchanged a look.

"When the professors caught us in the bathroom, I admitted that I'd been hiding and upset from Ron's bullying," Hermione said. "It kept the two boys out of trouble, and redirected McGonagall's rage away from us to Ron." She paused. "Snape took points from Gryffindor for his bullying, too. So that's a plus."

There was a silence, and Hermione felt uncomfortable. The other girls seemed to be looking at each other, an entire conversation encompassed within their glances. None of them looked at her. Tracey looked excited, Millie wary, and Pansy exasperated.

Daphne looked pensive for a long moment, before she looked up at Hermione.

"House Slytherin is gathered to unite against a common enemy," she said, her eyes hard. "We unite our hearts, our minds, and our magic to bring down our foe and keep Slytherin strong."

Her words had the ring of magic to them, and Hermione watched as she continued.

"Ronald Weasley is foe to House Slytherin," Daphne murmured, placing her hand on the bed in the center between the girls. "He has injured me and mine, he has made us his enemy, and we shall stand together to bring him down."

The other girls all looked to each other with wide eyes. Even Hermione could sense something formal was happening, and she tried to look like she understood.

"Ronald Weasley is foe to House Slytherin," Tracey repeated, moving suddenly to put her hand on top of Daphne's. "He has injured me and mine. He has made us his enemy, and we shall stand together to bring him down."

Hermione gasped as strings of green light came from under Daphne's hand, floating in the air next to Tracey's.

"Ronald Weasley is foe to House Slytherin," Millie declared, clapping her hand on top of the pile. "He has injured me and mine, he has made us his enemy, and we shall stand together to bring him down."

The glowing strings lengthened, and Hermione's eyes widened even more.

Everyone looked to Pansy, who was pouting, before she rolled her eyes and huffed.

"All right," she said snidely. "But this is only because I don't like Weasley, you know."

She moved closer, laying her hand on top of Millie's, and when Pansy spoke, there was a sudden weight to her words.

"Ronald Weasley is foe to House Slytherin," she intoned. "He has injured me and mine, he has made us his enemy, and we shall stand together to bring him down."

They all looked to her, and after a torn moment, Hermione put her hand down on the top.

"Ronald Weasley is foe to House Slytherin," she said quietly. "He has injured me and mine. He has made us his enemy… and we shall stand together to bring him down."

The floating strings of energy began moving quickly, tying knots between everyone's hands and wrists, leaving almost after-images of bright neon green light hanging in the air.

"This we so swear," Daphne said. "We swear in our hearts to recognize him as our enemy. We swear in our minds to plot his demise. And we swear by our magic to protect each other and bring him down. We swear this by House Slytherin, united against our foe. This we so swear."

There was a tense moment as the green light slashed around all their hands, before all their hands began to pulse and glow.

"This we so swear!"

Hermione hadn't realized she had spoken with the others – it just happened, the words forcing themselves from her lips – but there was a jolt of energy that shot through and up her arm, before the rest of the green energy broke apart into little green flakes, slowly dissipating into the air.

The other girls were looking at their hands in shock, before looking at Hermione in surprise. Daphne's face was a mixture of pride and determination.

"That _hurt_ ," Tracey said, stretching her arm. " _Damn._ "

"I've never done a ritual like that before," Pansy admitted. "I mean, not a _real_ one."

"We've never had real enemies before," Daphne said. "Not really."

The girls all nodded softly, exchanging looks, before quietly going about their evening routines without a word.

Hermione couldn't stop her mind from racing. She felt as if something had shifted inside of her, something she couldn't come back from. She'd declared Ron her _enemy_. She'd sworn to act against him – to _actively_ bring him down.

But hadn't Ron started that in the first place? He'd called her names and been cruel since the start of the year, he'd abandoned her to Filch, and today he'd said such horrid things… if anyone had declared the other an enemy, _Ron_ had done it first.

And the girls… it'd let her bond with the other Slytherin girls…

Hermione fell asleep that night with an anxious feeling in her stomach, but with a small smile on her face.


	21. United

The next day, as Hermione waited in the common room for Tracey and Millie to come down, Draco Malfoy approached her. Hermione looked at him in surprise. Draco straightened his back, took a deep breath, and spoke with determination.

"I understand that the Slytherin girls declared Weasley foe to House Slytherin last evening."

Hermione stared at him. It was 7:00am – how, exactly, had someone gotten that information to him so fast?

Draco stood there, waiting, and Hermione realized he was expecting a response.

"We did," Hermione said slowly, nodding. Draco nodded once.

"If Weasley is foe to you girls, he shall be foe to the rest of us as well," he told her, extending his hand. "Our year will remain united and act as one."

He seemed to be waiting for a response from her, and Hermione wracked her brain for an appropriate phrase to say here from her etiquette books, pulling bits and pieces of formal phrasing together that seemed like they might work.

"Our year of House Slytherin is united against our common enemy," she told him, carefully putting her hand in his. "We are united in purpose to use our hearts, our minds, and our magic to bring down our foe and keep Slytherin strong."

There was a sharp flare of bright green magic as they shook hands, and Draco snapped his hand back, shaking it as though he was stung.

"Merlin, Granger," he said finally, looking at her with a new respect in his eyes. "Did you zap the other girls that badly?"

"We had each other to balance out everyone's power surge," Daphne said, descending from the stairs and joining them. She raised an eyebrow to Hermione. "You've united our pact with that of the boys'?"

"I- I have," Hermione said. She looked to Draco. "When did you…?"

"Last night, after Daphne told us of Weasley's bullying," Draco said. Hermione was astonished by his casual manner, and the lack of disdain in his eyes. "Blaise acted as stone, and I acted as seam."

"I was stone," Daphne told Draco. "Pansy seemed to want to be seam, but there's no way – we all know who the most powerful witch in our year is," Daphne admitted, casting a respectful look at Hermione, "though we may have, at first, been reluctant to admit it."

Tracey and Millie came down, their eyes wide as they saw Daphne and Draco talking to Hermione. They slowly edged over, and Hermione was relieved when Pansy and Blaise came down moments later.

Blaise looked over the group, shaking his head with an amused smirk.

"Breakfast, then?"

* * *

It was a new experience to be included in the Slytherin breakfast discussions.

Most of the discussion had centered around Charms, and the difficulty of making a feather fly. Draco had expressed his frustration with it, while Theo had commented that at least they'd made a better showing than the Gryffindors. Pansy had simpered at Draco, telling him she was sure he'd get it first next time (at this, her eyes slid over to Hermione), while Theo and Blaise exchanged a disgusted look.

There was a loud 'bang' from the Gryffindor table, and as one, Slytherin looked over with disgust.

It seemed that the Weasley twins had put a firecracker in one of the bowls of bacon. Bits of bacon and grease had gone everywhere, and Professor McGonagall was rapidly descending to put a stop to the madness. Ron Weasley was particularly angry, having been the person reaching for the bacon in the first place and having gotten a face full of it.

The Slytherins turned back to their own breakfasts, but a certain ominous feeling had settled over them.

"I've never declared someone enemy before," Greg admitted. "How do we do this? I can punch him after classes."

"That'll just get you in trouble," Daphne said. "If you have to punch him, wear a hood and put on a Ravenclaw tie or something – he's stupid enough that he might not recognize you."

"We could steal his bag and sabotage his homework," Theo suggested. "His marks would drop, and he'd get in trouble for that."

"That might be harder than you think," Hermione said. "His marks are already dismal – any sabotaging we would do could only improve his work."

There was a collective smirk at this, before they lapsed back into pensive silence. They all sat there, thinking.

"When my father wants to bring an enemy down," Draco said slowly, "he usually begins by finding out everything he can about the person. He then either blackmails them, or he works toward changing the public opinion of the person so the public brings them down."

The Slytherins looked to each other.

"We could make the teachers all hate him?" Blaise suggested. "It'll be easier than all the students. And if the teachers all hate him and he keeps losing points, all the Gryffindors will definitely start to hate him."

"How do we get the professors to hate him, though?" Hermione asked. "It's not that easy."

Draco's eyes turned to her, and there was a flare of satisfaction in them.

"That, Granger, is where you're wrong."

* * *

At lunch, Draco had told her not to worry, that The Plan would be ready by Saturday. He and Theo and Blaise were hard at work on it, taking input from Daphne. From his tone of voice and word choice, it almost seemed like he wanted to _impress_ her with this plan. It was strange enough having Draco talk to her directly, after being snubbed for two months, but the idea of him trying to _impress_ her was beyond odd. Hermione wondered if the social rules had changed because the ritual had "united them against a common foe," but there really was no real way to know. So Hermione let it go and focused on her lunch.

After classes that day, Hermione waited patiently in the dungeons for Snape's NEWT level class to leave. A few minutes of waiting later, the doors opened, and students poured out, all of them looking stressed and highly relieved.

Hermione knocked twice on the door, though it was still open. "Professor?"

Professor Snape looked up from his desk immediately, his eyes sharp. "Yes, Miss Granger?"

"May I come in?"

His lip curled. "Unless you prefer to shout your business down the corridor."

Hermione flushed as she entered the classroom and quickly closed the door. "I didn't want to presume upon your time, sir," she explained, moving to take the chair Snape had conjured for her. "I don't know if you have office hours for this sort of thing."

"For Slytherins, I am at your disposal," Snape said silkily. His eyes glinted. "Now, Miss Granger – what have you come to discuss?"

Hermione hesitated, considering her wording carefully.

"I… think I may have broken a rule," she told him. "I am hoping you have a student handbook around that I can look things up in."

"A student handbook?" Snape raised an eyebrow.

"Yes, a list of all the rules we have to follow here at Hogwarts, all the policies and punishments and so on."

Snape's gaze was fixed on her.

"And _why_ ," he said, "would you, Miss Granger, at the top of your class and nary a point lost – why would _you_ want such a thing?"

Hermione bit her lip.

"…I think I was involved in casting forbidden magic," she admitted. "I don't really know – it hasn't been covered in any of my books."

Snape's eyebrow rose higher. " _Forbidden magic?"_

Faltering, Hermione told him the story of the ritual she'd participated in the night before – how the other Slytherins had planned it before they'd even come to talk to her, how Daphne had said words and put her hand on the bottom, how the green power had appeared, how it meant something when Hermione put her hand on the top, and how she'd unwittingly united the house by shaking hands with Draco in the morning when both of them had gotten zapped.

She finished with that part, not wanting to go into detail about how the first year Slytherins were actively plotting Ron Weasley's downfall.

Snape's scowl had disappeared, and his eyes had darkened even further. He took a breath, staring at her in silence, before he finally spoke.

"Ritual magic is how magic used to be cast, Miss Granger," he told her quietly. "Before wands, all magic was channeled through the ground, through circles and words and chanting and candles. Some magic required sacrifices, others blood, and rituals could run astray when the power summoned was too much to be contained by those in the circle."

"Rituals have largely fallen out of favor," he continued. "Wands are simpler, and more elegant; there is a need, and there is a spell for that – no coven, no candles, no chanting, no mess."

"However, not everything has a spell for it, and rituals still _work_ , if they are performed. Many pureblood families pass down stories of some rituals that they teach their children. The one you unwittingly helped perform is one of them that is particularly well-known – The Fallen Foe."

Hermione bit her lip. "It wasn't very complicated, though. It was just us saying words and making a stack of our hands. There weren't any candles or anything."

"A ritual doesn't need to be complicated, necessarily. A ritual is a focusing of magic and intent. Your ritual united you all and your magic toward causing the downfall of Mr. Weasley." Snape's eyes glittered. "Should you and your fellow participants begin working toward this goal, you shall find it perhaps… easier, than you had anticipated. Magic will help you along the way."

Hermione swallowed. "Did… I break a rule then?"

Snape's eyebrow rose. "Declaring a foe is an old tradition, one that is rarely used but highly protected – the Great Houses would rebel against the school if they could not declare threats to their House's welfare as foes. It is _not_ forbidden, Miss Granger, but I would advise you not to speak of it to any others. It is not exactly customary magic, nor 'white', if you understand."

Hermione nodded slowly, then paused. "…are there more rituals, sir?"

Snape's eyes hardened, and Hermione hurried to explain.

"Only, I'm trying to fit in in Slytherin house, and I had _no idea_ what Daphne was doing, and it was lucky I got it right at all, and I don't want to be left behind again," she rushed out. "If you have a book about basic rituals, the ones that all the pureblood parents teach their children, I could read it and understand when they say such things."

Snape looked at her long and hard before releasing a sigh. He stood, went to the opposite door of the classroom, and disappeared behind it for a long moment. Hermione sat still in her chair, waiting, resisting the urge to bounce her foot. Snape returned a moment later, holding a dark-clad book.

"This will give you the information you are looking for," he told her. His eyes were sharp. "Do _not_ let the others see you reading it, especially not the faculty. If you are caught, do _not_ tell anyone where you got it. Do you understand?"

Hermione nodded. She reached into her bag and pulled out a stretchy, green and blue colored cloth pocket. Snape eyed it with distaste.

"Miss Granger, what is _that?_ "

"A book sock – a Muggle book cover," she told him, stretching it over the hard cover of the ominous-looking book. "In this case, a book disguise."

She shut the book and showed him. The cover was now covered in light green and blue pastels, and for the world, looked like a Muggle book of stories – not a book full of ancient and ominous magic.

Hermione was pleased to see Snape's lips quirk upwards.

"Five points to Slytherin for clever thinking," he murmured. He turned to her, his eyes narrowing. "Now get out. Don't you have some reading to do?"

It was all too cheerfully that Hermione skipped out of the dungeons, clutching the book to her chest.


	22. The Eagle's Nest

Homework had been light that week, with even the teachers in a celebratory Halloween spirit, so Hermione went up to Ravenclaw tower to read her new book.

The others looked up as she came in, but she was met with nods and small smiles. She'd come up to study with Terry Boot a few times now, and with the "password" being merely a riddle, it seemed that the Ravenclaw common room was welcome to anyone who wanted to join in in academic pursuits.

Curling up on a window seat with perfectly-positioned blue pillows, Hermione began to read.

The book wasn't exactly what Hermione expected, and her eyes grew large as she continued. Just the introduction was a tirade against the dumbing down of magic, of the Old Ways being forgotten, and how ritual magic was a wizard's heritage and the way to access True Power, and how rituals should not be forgotten. There were casual references to the power of blood and sacrifice that gave Hermione the impression that such things were normal components of rituals. The names of some of the rituals, such as _The Dark Way_ and _Misery to All Ye Who Oppose Me,_ gave her pause. The introduction concluded with a plea for wizards to return to the way of rituals for all meaningful magic, and to leave the small, non-important magic to the wand.

The next part dealt with the types of rituals and different components. Hermione was fascinated to read about the different structures – if she learned the different parts, it seemed that she would be able to create her own rituals, if she truly understood it all. She happily dissected the ritual they'd done in the dormitory – the "stone" was the witch who began the ceremony and directed the power toward its end purpose, and the "seam" was the witch who had the justification to do the ritual (in her case, Ron's bullying) and whose power would unite them all in purpose and mind.

Hermione was a bit flattered to realize that Daphne had meant her compliment about Hermione being the most powerful witch in their year. The stone and seam were serious responsibilities. Knowing what she knew now, Hermione would have expected her hand to be placed second-to-last, with Daphne directing Pansy to put her hand on the top – Pansy's hatred of the Weasleys was common knowledge and would have been enough to fuel the spell as the one who 'needed' the ritual. Instead, Daphne had directed her to be the seam, and even Pansy had acquiesced with only a snarky remark but no real objection.

Maybe her efforts were finally beginning to pay off. Their last Charms class had been impressive, and Potions was good too. It was her defeat of the troll, though, that Hermione suspected had been the catalyst for this change. She doubted any of the others would have had the strength to set the troll on fire – _Incendio_ was in the last third of their spell book, and they probably wouldn't learn it until March at the earliest. And all the others probably would have frozen in fear, not been compelled to escape and move.

Hermione spent an enjoyable afternoon reading about other ritual configurations – the pentagram, the seven-star, the triangle of totality, and so on. She only realized how late it was in the day when Anthony Goldstein interrupted her, putting a hand on her knee.

"I'm not sure you're aware of this," he said, with a small smile, "but everyone else is leaving for dinner."

"Ah!" Hermione sat up abruptly, flushing. She hurriedly tucked her book into her bag, slinging it over her shoulder. "I'm so sorry – I didn't realize."

"No matter – I certainly know what it's like to get caught up in a good book." He grinned at her, and Hermione found herself grinning back. Anthony paused, before awkwardly holding his arm out, his elbow pointy. "May I escort you to dinner?"

Hermione blinked at him, trying to hide her astonishment at his offer as her mind raced through the social implications. An escort to dinner was an indication of respect for a witch and fondness, generally only done with witches of high class, and could indicate an intent to court her or that she was being courted – Anthony was a Goldstein, halfblood due to a Muggleborn grandfather, still of admirable status in magical society by virtue of his family name, and apparently educated in pureblood etiquette-

Anthony stood there awkwardly with his elbow extended, a strained smile on his face. He looked awfully cute, Hermione reflected, blond hair hanging ever just-too-long over his ears, and he was trying not to bite his lip.

Decision made, Hermione flounced to her feet and took his arm. "I would love if you would escort me to dinner," she told him, rewarding him with a dazzling smile.

Anthony looked surprised and a little dazed, but he regrouped admirably enough, and it was with great purpose and pride he escorted her out of Ravenclaw tower and down the stairs, making idle conversation about levitation charms. He confessed that he was still having more difficulty with them than he wanted, despite the seeming simplicity of the charm. Hermione offered that if she focused on the bottom of the object specifically, of supporting it on a wave of wind or power when trying to lift it, levitating objects felt easier than when she just focused on the object as a whole, trying to overcome its weight with sheer will. She admitted she didn't know if that was how the spell was _supposed_ to be done, but it worked just as well, had the same wand movements, and the same results, so he might as well try it next time?

As he pushed open the doors to the Great Hall, Anthony looked at her like she'd just handed him a bag of gold.

"Thank you," he told her, his eyes earnest. He paused. "You know you're smart, of course, but you really are brilliant. You think of things in ways no one else does like it's effortless." He smiled and bowed over her hand, pressing a kiss to the back of it. "It's been my pleasure speaking with you, Hermione. Thank you for the conversation."

His compliment was delivered with such sincerity and admiration that Hermione flushed, which only deepened at his kiss to her hand. Minding her (much-studied) manners, Hermione inclined her head and gave him a small curtsy (which was terribly difficult to pull off in such a short skirt). Anthony seemed amused but pleased at her efforts and smiled to her as they parted ways, him heading to the Ravenclaw table, her to the Slytherin one.

It was only when she saw her entire year at Slytherin staring at her, mouths agog, that she realized something might be amiss.

A quick glance around the room confirmed that not many people were at dinner yet, and the majority of those who were seemed occupied with eating. A few of the Ravenclaws were giving Anthony appraising looks as he walked toward them, and Ernie Macmillan over at Hufflepuff looked furious for some reason. No one at Gryffindor was batting an eye, and no one at the Head Table seemed to be paying any attention to them.

Hermione took her seat at the Slytherin with as much grace and decorum as she could, acting as if nothing at all had just happened.

"Sorry," she said, nodding to the others. "I got carried away reading before dinner and didn't realize the time."

There were reflexive murmurings of acceptance and forgiveness, and slowly, the other witches turned away from her to resume their conversation – something about Sleekeazy's latest creation, it seemed. They glanced back at her periodically, but Hermione was doing nothing interesting – only eating her food, now.

The boys, however, seemed considerably more interested in her; three of them, at least – Crabbe and Goyle certainly weren't, given they were thumb wrestling in between bites. But Draco was giving her a dark look, one that would fill most people with dread. Blaise looked highly amused, his eyes dancing with mischief, and Theo looked incredulous, though he was trying to hide it.

They all ate their dinners in silence for a long time, the noise of silverware tinging and plates being scraped filling the air.

"That Anthony Goldstein?" Theo said finally.

 _Ha! They broke first._ Hermione smiled to herself, while outwardly, she nodded. "He offered to escort me to dinner," she said, cutting her roast.

"Like when I was playing bodyguard and you made me take you everywhere?"

Hermione's lips curled up at the sides, into a sort of amused half-smile.

"Yes, sort of like that," she mused. "Only, not really like that at all."

Theo sat back in his seat, eyebrows raised, and if it was possible, Draco's face darkened even further.

"Goldstein's certainly not hesitating, then," Blaise said, smirking. "No one's been escorted to dinner yet this year – no one under 4th year, at least."

His matter-of-fact assessment gave Hermione pause. "…You keep track?" she asked carefully.

"Of course," he shrugged. "Need to know the current situation of who is after who, don't I? If I'm going to be stepping on another wizard's toes, I need to know who that wizard is."

He shot her a grin, and Hermione rolled her eyes but grinned back.

"He didn't give you anything, did he?" Draco demanded abruptly.

The conversations amongst any of the first years ceased. Hermione felt all their eyes slowly turn to stare at her.

"A compliment?" Hermione offered, trying to hide her unease. "He walked me to dinner. That was all."

The others slowly turned away to refocus on their own plates, Hermione included, as she tried to conceal her confusion. Draco seemed satisfied and less angry at her answer, but Pansy was looking at Draco as if he'd grown a third head – a mixture of anger, shock, and betrayal, that didn't seem to fit on her face, given the situation.

Daphne seemed to realize the uncomfortable situation.

"Meeting tomorrow night at eight, in the corner of the common room by the lake," Daphne reminded them all, her social graces smoothing over the situation.

"Quidditch tomorrow," Greg grunted, and Draco gave him an annoyed look.

"It's not likely to go all day," he told him. "If we win, there will be a party, and we can talk in the corner with no one knowing any better. If we lose, there will be sulking and angry talk, and no one will pay attention to us anyway."

"If we lose?" Blaise looked at Draco with horror. "Surely you don't think we're going to _lose_ to Gryffindor, do you?"

That started them bickering about Quidditch, something decidedly more normal to hear about at the dinner table, and Hermione managed to finish eating her dinner in relative peace.


	23. Exploring the Corridor

The entire school filed out to watch the Quidditch match the next morning after breakfast. This, to Hermione, seemed the perfect excuse to linger behind, dart back inside, and explore the forbidden third-floor corridor.

Hermione felt prepared. She had with her a proper explorer's kit, assembled from many jaunts around the castle and odds owls sent to her parents. Her father, upon hearing she wanted to make an explorer's kit, had seemed oddly enthusiastic about sending her a backpack filled with a bedroll, mess kit, tinderbox, torches, lock picks, army rations, a waterskin, a crowbar, 50 feet of rope, and a grappling hook – one or two items at a time. By the time she was done assembling everything, the entire pack was incredibly heavy, and Hermione took out the rations, bedroll, and torches to help lighten it – she certainly didn't plan on staying in the corridor for _days_ , despite her father's odd insistence.

Hermione had also gotten a music wand from Madam Pomfrey. Hermione had gone to the infirmary, pleading homesickness, and the nurse had given her the wand, suggesting a lullaby to help her get to sleep. The nurse had fixed her with a sharp look, telling her she wasn't about to give out Dreamless Sleep potions to young children for homesickness, but Hermione had been genuinely grateful for the music wand, and Madam Pomfrey's face had softened.

After carefully looking around the area surrounding the third floor corridor, Hermione activated the music wand and aimed an _Alohomora_ at the door.

The giant, three-headed dog was still there, but as Hermione watched it, its face and ears seemed to droop with sleep, charmed by the Mozart issuing from the music wand. Hermione watched as it collapsed onto its paws, all its heads beginning to snore, and Hermione quickly shut the door behind her.

The trap door was just behind the dog, and Hermione was lucky it hadn't been blocked by the dog when it had collapsed. She was surprised to discover that the door opened with just a pull, but uneasy to see that it opened into black nothingness.

Biting her lip, Hermione left the music wand playing near the trapdoor, floating a few feet off the ground. It had an hour before it would automatically stop and need to be manually restarted again. She got out her grappling hook, and, after carefully wedging it onto the trap door and the floor (breaking some of the floor in the process – the grappling hook had sharper hooks than she'd thought), Hermione tied the end of the rope to her middle and began to climb down into the dark.

It was rough going. Her arms ached at holding her weight, and her hands were burning on the coarseness of the rope. As she climbed, Hermione nearly wished she'd brought a silken one, though she doubted it would have been strong enough.

Finally, Hermione reached the end of the rope, with still no end in sight. With a _Lumos_ , Hermione peered below her, only to see that there seemed to be something green at the bottom – a bottom that was very, _very_ far down.

It was as if she was supposed to just _jump._ Which seemed incredibly stupid, to Hermione – how was she supposed to get back _up_ , if she jumped?

Muttering angrily, Hermione began to pull herself back up the rope. After a short while, though, she realized that her arms were beginning to burn and shake. Going down the rope had been a bit easier – climbing back _up_ it _hurt._

Hermione bit her lip, nearly drawing blood, as she tried to handle the pain in her arms. She _couldn't_ just stay here – they would find her, and what would Snape say then? He wouldn't be happy with her, with her just dangling in the breeze in a forbidden area.

Thinking of Snape gave Hermione an idea. Dismissing her _Lumos_ spell, Hermione craned her body and aimed her wand at her robes with a careful swish and flick.

_"Wingardium Leviosa."_

To her immense relief, she felt the spell take hold of her robes, lifting her slightly. Biting her lip, Hermione tucked her wand into her waist, being sure to keep her mental focus on the spell, and began to climb once more.

It was _hard_ , keeping the spell going without using her wand, especially while she climbed, but Hermione could _feel_ the spell on her body, lifting her just enough to take some of her bodyweight off of her arms, allowing her to climb back up the fifty feet to the top without her arms giving out.

When she finally made it out, hauling herself over the lip and collapsing onto the stone floor, it felt even harder to get back on her feet, put away the grappling hook, and close the trapdoor. The giant dog was still sleeping, and Hermione staggered to the door with the music wand, opening and closing the entrance and relocking it before finally turning off the music wand.

Unable to make it all the way to the dungeons, Hermione staggered into the nearby trophy room, leaned up against the wall in a corner, and promptly collapsed.

* * *

When Hermione awoke, it was dark out, and she felt much, _much_ better.

Her arms _ached_ , and Hermione reckoned she hadn't done that much physical activity in at least half a year. She seemed to have magically exhausted herself as well. Hermione hoped that whatever the _Get Ron Weasley_ plan entailed, it wouldn't entail her casting any spells tonight. She could tell only a small part of her power had returned to her.

Staggering slightly, Hermione made it to her feet and left the room, making her way slowly down to the dungeons.

"Hermione?"

Hermione turned in the stairwell, surprised.

"…Ernie?"

Ernie stood there, a scroll tucked under his arm. He looked worried. "Are you okay?"

"Mostly?" Hermione admitted, looking herself over. "I'm magically exhausted, but I'll be alright."

"Is that why you missed dinner?" Ernie asked her. "You were too tired?"

"I got carried away practicing the Levitation Charm," Hermione told him, stepping around the truth. "I didn't realize I'd exhausted myself until it was a bit too late."

The worry on Ernie's face smoothed out, and he gave her a small smile.

"I've overdone it on studying a few times before myself," he said. "Want to stop by the kitchens with me and get something to eat?"

Hermione had been planning on eating one of the army rations she'd taken out of her pack, but fresh food sounded _much_ better. "Yes, please."

Ernie led her down to the second floor, to a large picture of a bowl of fruit. Hermione watched as he tickled the pear in the painting, to see it magically morph into a door handle. Judging from Ernie's expression, she hadn't been able to hide her reaction.

"That's incredible," she told him. "How did you figure that out?"

Ernie colored slightly, scratching the back of his neck.

"The prefects told us all," he admitted. "The Hufflepuff common room isn't far from here – it's a secret they let us all in on."

They entered the kitchens, and Hermione stopped short.

" _Those_ ," she said, her eyes wide. "What are… _those?"_

There were masses of short, odd-looking creatures wearing torn (but clean) rags. They had long, floppy ears, gigantic eyes, and bony, thin limbs.

Ernie turned back to look at her, confused.

"The House Elves?" he asked. "They run the kitchens."

Hermione's eyes widened. " _Oh…"_

Looking at them with a new eye, Hermione bit her lip as she watched them. Ernie asked one of them for a plate of sandwiches, and the elf seemed only too happy to go and fetch them.

"This is… they're _happy_ doing this?" Hermione said carefully.

"Yeah." Ernie shrugged. "They feed off the bond they have with a place or a family, and they get pleasure from working and doing a good job serving."

"Are these the only elves in the wizarding world?" Hermione asked. "If these are 'House Elves', are there other elves out there?"

Ernie frowned. "Come to think of it, I have no idea. There might be? Anyway, come over here."

He urged her over to take a seat, where she was presented with a large plate of sandwiches and a mug of pumpkin juice. Her eyes widened.

"This is great," she told the elf. "Thanks."

The elf blushed in pleasure, and murmured that if she needed anything else, to just let her know, before disappearing back into the mess of elves running around.

She and Ernie made light conversation while eating – Ernie mostly told her all about the Quidditch game, while Hermione made appropriate murmurings and gasps along the way, too busy eating for actual words. She came away with an understanding that Harry Potter had almost died from his broom being jinxed, but someone had counter-jinxed it in time to save his life, and in time for him to swoop down and capture the Snitch. Hermione made a mental note to interrogate Harry about that – what on _earth_ had he done to make someone want to jinx him?

After the sandwiches were gone, Ernie and Hermione thanked the elves again, who blushed in pleasure. Hermione paused at the door, before leaving.

"Are you permitted to bring students things in the dormitories?" she asked.

The elves nodded rapidly, looking excited.

"Would you please bring a large tray of… let's say madelines, macarons, and tarts, to the Slytherin common room at 8 o'clock?" she asked, glancing at the clock, and seeing it was quarter 'til. "Is that enough time to make all that?"

The elves nodded rapidly, looking thrilled by the challenge.

"We will have to start right away, Missy Hermione!" one elf told her. "We will be making those right now!"

"Can you get them to the round table in the corner by the lake?" she asked. "The large one, with all the seating near it?"

"You is counting on us, Missy Hermione! Now shoo!"

The elf ushered her out of the kitchens, closing the door firmly behind her, leaving her bewildered in the hallway, Ernie laughing.

"They can be forceful, can't they?" he said, amused.

"They certainly can," Hermione murmured, brushing flour off her rear from the House Elf's hands. "And here, I was worried that they were slaves…"

Ernie looked uneasy.

"It might look like that at first, I guess," he admitted. "But they're more of a creature than a person. They _live_ to work. It's a symbiotic relationship with humans, I guess. We can't exactly hold them to human standards, can we?"

"I suppose not."

Ernie grinned at her.

"Good to talk to you," he said, giving her a strong nod. "See you in class?"

Hermione nodded. "See you, Ernie."

Ernie strode off down the corridor, looking purposeful. Hermione watched him go, before heading back up to the trophy room, grabbing her stashed explorer's kit, slinging it over her shoulder, and heading down to the dungeons.


	24. Plotting

Hermione had to hide her explorer's kit again, this time in an empty classroom in the dungeons. She didn't want awkward questions about it when she arrived for the meeting, and she didn't have time to get to her room and put it away before the meeting was due to start. Hiding it was the best option, regardless of how reluctant Hermione felt about it.

Hermione entered the common room just short of 8 o'clock. The older students were storming around, muttering and playing violent games of gobstones or chess. Hermione's eyes fixed on her year-mates, who were all sitting around the circular table by the lake. Hermione felt a thread of pleasure – with all of them sitting there already, it made it seem like they were waiting for her, even if they weren't.

"So sorry if I'm late," Hermione said, sliding into the last chair as the clock started chiming 8 o'clock behind her. She clapped, looking around at the others. "Shall we get started?"

The House Elves' platter of treats appeared at _just_ that moment, to a murmur from the others. Hermione bit her lip, amused. It seemed almost like she'd made it appear when she clapped. If only she _could_ do something like that.

Greg was the first to descend upon the platter, claiming three of the tarts, before the others sat back with fancy treats in their hands as they began to discuss the plan.

"Ron Weasley is foe to House Slytherin, and we are here, united in purpose, to discuss a plan to bring him down," Daphne began, looking around. Everyone seemed to be nodding. "Right. So, Draco – you have a plan?"

Draco sat up straighter.

"The best way to bring an enemy to ruin is to ruin their reputation in the eyes of others," he told them. "That is much harder to regain than anything so menial as money, from financial ruin, for example."

"Not that the Weasleys have any money to lay ruin to anyway," Blaise muttered. Draco shot him a dark look, Daphne kicked him, and with an "ow!", Blaise shut up.

"The plan is to bring him down in the eyes of the professors, so he loses a lot of points," Draco said. "The easiest way to do this, we think, is to deliberately antagonize Weasley just before a teacher arrives, so the teacher only sees his out-of-proportion reaction."

"Weasley has an explosive temper," Theo agreed. "We can take advantage of this and make him look like a fool who's always about to go off."

They discussed a plan on how best to do this. They concluded that Draco, Greg, and Vincent would be the ones to confront Ron, and that Blaise and Theo would run teacher interference/warnings in the hallways, to ensure the timing was always right.

Part of Hermione found this perversely amusing. They were choreographing fighting in the hallway, just so the other person would get caught. It seemed so inauthentic, but Hermione was well aware that any insults thrown would be all too real in the heat of the moment.

"Next," Draco said, looking down at a small piece of parchment he'd brought. "Granger – you need to attempt to renew your friendship with him."

" _What?_ " Tracey said, growing furious. "After all those things he said?"

"That's exactly why she should do it," Draco said. "The professors will see Hermione being the better person, being gracious and forgiving. The professors all love her – she's at the top of every class. We'll get Weasley to snap at her again – somewhere public, with a lot of the professors around – and when Hermione is upset and starts crying and runs away, the teachers will all be furious with Ron, and he'll feel their _collective_ wrath."

"I'll need to cry in public?" Hermione asked, unsure.

"We'll arrange it so only the necessary people are around," Daphne assured her. "Us, the teachers, maybe some of Ron's friends, some of your friends… we have time to figure out what would have the most impact. We want Ron to utterly disgrace himself in front of people who are predisposed to love you and hate him."

"Lastly," Draco said, glancing at Pansy, who looked irritated but resigned. "Lastly, one of us will attempt to seduce Weasley, and then subsequently break his heart."

" _Seduce_ him?" Hermione said, repulsed. "You do realize he's _eleven?_ "

Theo shot her a look. "And…?"

"I don't think he thinks of girls – or guys, for that matter – that way at all, yet," Hermione said diplomatically. "I don't think he's even begun to hit puberty."

"He's not even starting to look for matches?" Theo asked. "Nothing at all?"

"His parents were a love match," Blaise offered. "I don't think they'd have spoken to him about any of it yet – he may not have even gotten 'the talk'."

"So trying to seduce him would be a wasted effort?" Pansy said, throwing her hands up.

"At least right now," Hermione said, shrugging. "If we're still trying to bring him down in a few years, after he's actually hit puberty – there might be some success there then?"

" _Thank_ you," Pansy said firmly. She shot a dark look at Draco, who was determinedly not looking at her.

"So we'll put that one on hold for now, then," Draco said, marking his sheet. He looked up. "As the plans stand, we will drive him to fury in the hallways, and then make him cut Hermione down in front of a crowd. Agreed?"

Hermione felt uneasy, but she agreed with them nonetheless. Pleased, Draco looked to Daphne, who pronounced the meeting concluded. They started divvying up the remaining treats, and Hermione turned to Tracey.

"I'm not sure the teachers really like me that much to bring wrath down on Ron," Hermione confided in her. "I hope this isn't all some plan to just have me insulted and be seen crying in public."

Tracey opened her mouth to respond, but her eyes widened and her mouth snapped shut a moment later. Hermione looked behind her to see Draco, looking at her.

"It's a good plan, Granger," he told her, frowning. "You agreed with it."

"I did," Hermione said steadily, holding his gaze. "That doesn't mean there mightn't be a secondary motive behind it. We are all Slytherins, after all."

Draco almost looked struck, torn between being hurt at her accusation and pleased she thought him sneaky enough to have multiple motives already.

"She's not wrong," Tracey said, looking at Draco pointedly. "You haven't exactly been welcoming, or been nice to her at all since the beginning of the year."

Draco hesitated, before turning to look at Hermione.

"I would never put you in a position like this just to see you humiliated," he told her quietly. "Realize – though I may not have spoken to you before, neither did I insult you, nor did I degrade you. We all have roles to play, and…" He trailed off, looking uneasy. "…well, at least we're able to speak now."

 _Able_ to speak to her? That struck Hermione as odd. It sounded almost as though Draco had _wanted_ to talk to her, but couldn't. Maybe Draco's father told him not to talk to her because of his blood prejudice? That certainly wouldn't be out of the realm of possibility, knowing what little she did of the Malfoys.

"Tears and humiliation can be a powerful weapon – pity and rage at injustice are powerful tools," Draco told her. He bit his lip. "It won't happen for a while – we need to set the stage, and you need to regain his friendship, or at least seem to. It'll all work out, Granger."

Hermione gave him a small half-smile.

"I know," she admitted. "But that doesn't mean I won't get my feelings hurt in the process."

"If he makes you cry genuine tears, I will make him rue the day he was born and bring ruin to his family," Draco said, his voice dark.

"Why, Draco," Hermione said, with an odd sort of half-laugh escaping her mouth. "You almost make it sound as though you care."

Draco jerked awkwardly at that, moving towards her but stopping short. He looked like he wanted to do something – or say something, at least – but he held himself back.

"The plan will start in the morning," he told her, snagging a few tarts and nodding to her as he left. He shot her a smirk. "You might enjoy it – watching Weasley lose loads and loads of points will be fun."

Hermione smiled to herself and shook her head in amusement, before abruptly realizing Tracey had left at some point in the conversation. Shrugging to herself, she left the common room, hurrying to grab her explorer's kit and get to her dormitory before curfew.


	25. Taking the Bait

The next morning, Hermione awoke to find herself cornered by her dormmates very, very early.

"So, Hermione, we were thinking…" said Daphne, twirling a bit of her hair.

"…as your fellow Slytherins and co-conspirators…" Millie added.

"…that you should really…" Tracey said, nodding.

"…tell us _what_ the blazes you've been doing to make yourself look so good!" Pansy finished, eyes sharp.

The other three shot her a dark look, while Pansy looked defiant.

" _Please_ , Hermione?" Tracey pleaded. "I _know_ there's a secret to what you've been doing, and we're all getting along so _well_ now…"

"We would all very much appreciate it," Daphne said. "I know I, for one, would like to be able to show up my cousins at Christmas this year."

Hermione looked at them, feeling a sly ribbon of pleasure curl inside her.

They'd taken the bait.

"…All right," Hermione said, being sure to hesitate. She bit her lip. "But it has to remain a secret, okay? I don't want it getting out – the last thing we need is everybody stealing our advantage, okay?"

The other girls nodded their heads rapidly, eyes wide. Hermione bit back a grin.

"Okay. Let's sit in the middle."

Tracey went to block the door with Pansy's nightstand as Millie and Daphne dragged a round table from the far side of the bedroom into the middle with its chairs. Hermione fished through her trunk for her makeup kit. Hermione took her time; she wasn't dim enough to think now that they were all united against Ron together, they were all going to be the best of friends. She knew Pansy still loathed her if nothing else… but it suited her purposes, to let them all think she'd accepted them as her friends, so she would be willing to tell them her secret. Finally finding her kit, she turned back to them, closing her trunk.

The five of them settled around the table, all of them looking to Hermione, who put her kit on the table.

"This," she told them gravely, "is a makeup kit."

She could see them tasting the word in their own mouths.

"It's called that because it 'makes up' for any imperfections you have," she said, opening the kit. "There are small potions and powders in here that help enhance your looks, and some others to change how you look entirely. It depends how you use them – it's almost an art."

Daphne was looking at a compact, jerking slightly in surprise to find herself in a mirror inside of it. Pansy was eyeing a glittery eyeshadow with avarice.

"The trick with makeup is it has to match your own coloring," Hermione told them.

"Like with robes?" Tracey asked.

"Exactly," Hermione said, nodding. "We all have different skin colors, eye colors, and hair colors. You have to pick the right colors to flatter you, otherwise the makeup will make you look weird."

"How does all this work?" Daphne asked, touching a mascara brush with distrust. She glanced up at Hermione. "Can you show us?"

Shrugging, Hermione nodded. "Why not?"

It was an odd experience, Hermione noted, to put on makeup and carefully explain what each step was and what it did. The girls (Pansy especially) were excited by the concealer that Hermione put on a couple spots she had to make them disappear. The foundation powder evoked a murmur of awe, and the eyeshadows and mascara an odd fascination.

"Have you ever stuck the brush in your eye?" Tracey asked.

Hermione laughed. "Maybe once? You just need to be very careful."

Afterward, she showed them her curling iron. Palming the end of the retractable cord, Hermione heated it up with a charm, and curled her hair as best she could. It was a challenge, as she hadn't slept in wet braids to prepare her hair for it this time. She managed somewhat more defined waves, and the frizziness was down, which Hermione counted as at least a partial win. She glanced in the mirror and sighed, before gesturing to Daphne.

"Come here," Hermione said, shifting her own chair over. "I'll show you. Your hair's straight – it'll work better on yours."

Daphne's eyes were wide, but she obligingly moved her chair over and sat next to Hermione, sitting very, very still.

"You can choose how big or small you want the curls to be, and how tight or loose, also," Hermione told them, winding Daphne's hair into the iron and hitting it with another heating charm. "I'll do Daphne's differently than mine – the best I can usually manage is loose waves or curls, but Daphne's hair will take to the curling iron much better. Watch."

There was a murmur as a large, fat corkscrew curl emerged from the iron. Hermione pinned it up quickly to cool and started on the next.

By the end, Daphne had a head of large, fat ringlets. Hermione let the cooled curls down and sprayed them lightly with hairspray to help them keep, before offering Daphne the mirror. Taking a deep breath, Daphne steeled herself and looked into the mirror, only to gasp.

"Is that… me?" she said, tilting her head from side to side. "It's so _pretty!_ "

Daphne turned to Hermione, her eyes alight with amazement and gratitude, and Hermione smiled.

"Did you really think I'd try and mess up your hair?" she teased. Daphne flushed but continued to primp in the mirror, pleased.

Hermione looked out at the table. The other girls looked at Daphne with happiness, and some envy. Pansy's envy was palpable – Pansy's own hair was notoriously limp.

"So, Hermione," Millie said, picking up a compact. "How did you get all of this? How can _we_ get all this, too?"

"Yes," Pansy said quickly. "You said that everyone's coloring is different – how can we get this secret makeup too, but in our own colors?"

Hermione looked at them all seriously. This was the test – convincing them that it was rare and top secret. Hermione gave them all an evaluating look before going back under her bed and bringing out a glossy catalog that she'd carefully edited.

"I have a contact who knows someone who knows who to get it from secretly in America," she told them. "If you want, I can let them know to get some for you, too, but it's not cheap – nothing this good ever is."

She'd picked America because the MACUSA was well-known for having dangerously lax standards with potion and product testing, and she'd needed somewhere that spoke English to claim as a point of origin, unless she wanted to peel off every single label. Luckily, none of the girls seemed to think twice on her claim.

"What is this?" Pansy demanded, flipping through the catalog. "The pictures don't move!"

"That's because each photo is of a specific thing and the models do their best _not_ to move," Hermione snapped back. "If you're trying to just see how someone's eyeshadow looks up close, it's not going to help you if they're moving and blinking all over the place, is it?"

"…I guess not." Pansy settled back into her chair, cowed.

"I've marked the prices in this one by hand," Hermione said. "You'll notice that they call different colors or different shades by code. You write down the codes you want and your own order code, and you send the money secretly another way. That way, if the codes get intercepted, no one knows what they're for or what they mean."

The other girls nodded, murmuring over the secrecy measures. There was a bit of jostling as all of them poured over the catalog.

"This is expensive," Tracey murmured, looking.

"But look at how beautiful she looks!" Daphne said, pointing to a mascara model. "She's so pretty!"

"Mascara, the eyelash stuff, is generally always black," Hermione said. "I have an extra one, that you all could share, if you want."

Daphne and Pansy whipped around to look at her.

"Really?" Daphne asked, eyes wide.

Hermione shrugged. "Sure," she said. "I'll either buy another one with your things, or one of you can replace mine for me."

"I'll cover it," Daphne said quickly.

"Then it's just a matter of none of you having pink eye, and you'll be fine," Hermione said, digging the extra out of her kit. "It'll be good for you to get practice with it – starting out, it's hard to not make the potion clump, which always looks bad."

Daphne quickly claimed the mascara from Hermione, holding it tightly. The other girls poured over the catalog, murmuring quietly. Hermione glanced at the clock – it was nearly time for breakfast.

"Let's do this," Hermione suggested. "I'll leave this with you. _Don't_ let anyone see it. But you can pass it around, and later tonight, we'll write all the codes down on parchment that you want and make a pool of galleons to send. Depending how quickly we can send this off, we can try and get your makeup a few weeks before Christmas."

The other girls murmured their agreement, and Pansy quickly stashed the catalog as they all started getting ready for the day. Hermione helped Daphne with the mascara wand for the first time in the mirror, teaching her how to open her eyes and look up. After a couple misses, Daphne's eyes were coated in black, and Hermione wiped off the smudges next to her eyes with a damp cloth.

"There," she said, smiling. "Look how much longer your eyelashes look."

Daphne stared at herself in the mirror, fluttering her eyelashes, and then looking back at herself in astonishment over and over again. Hermione smirked and went to get ready.


	26. The Groundskeeper

Breakfast was amusing. Hermione still got the appreciative looks she usually garnered whenever she put makeup on, but her classmates' reaction to Daphne's gorgeous corkscrew curls was much more dramatic.

"Merlin, Greengrass!" One of the older girls, Flora Carrow, came over, looking on in envy. "What'd you do to your hair?"

"Do you like it?" Daphne said, turning her head back and forth to watch the curls bounce.

"It's stunning," Hestia Carrow, twin to Flora, admitted. "How'd you do it? I can never get my hair to look that perfect, even if I sleep in rags."

"Oh, Hermione and I were just playing around this morning," Daphne said dismissively. She smiled at Hermione, who shared her secret smile. "I thought it came out rather well."

The Carrow sisters slowly returned to their place with the other third years, looking on jealously, and Daphne smirked further. Pansy was looking on in pride and slight envy, and Tracey just looked amused.

The boys from their own year looked suspicious.

"What're you playing at?" Theo asked Daphne. "What'd you do with your hair?"

"Curled it," Daphne said promptly.

"Don't give me that," Theo retorted. "I've seen you and Pansy with your hair curled before. It's never looked like that."

"Hermione taught us a new way," Daphne shot back, with a winning smile. "She knows a way that uses magic. It looks quite different, yes?"

Daphne bounced her curls again, and Hermione fought the urge to laugh.

"…yes," Theo admitted, begrudgingly. "…you look nice, Daphne."

Daphne beamed, before eating her porridge in the smuggest manner imaginable for one to eat porridge. Hermione bit back her laughter before finishing a piece of toast and standing.

"You're done already?" Tracey asked.

"No, but I've other plans," Hermione said, gesturing across the hall. "Public reconciliation, right?"

The others looked at her with grave faces, nodding at her with respect.

"Good luck, Granger," Draco told her formally, and Hermione nodded back, straightening her shoulders and heading over.

Harry, Neville, and Ron had been at breakfast maybe five minutes so far – Hermione had been watching. So far, they'd seemed to have woken up a bit, but not yet gotten too far into their breakfast. Hermione headed over, slowing her pace to seem tentative as she approached. Instead, it ensured that everyone had plenty of time to notice her walking over, making sure all the first-years' eyes were on her, and a fair few from the Head table.

Ron was the last to notice, as he slurped down an orange. Harry elbowed him sharply, nodding towards Hermione, and Ron's eyes widened as she approached. Hermione climbed onto the bench next to Neville, across from Harry and Ron, nodding demurely, before looking at Ron, her eyes wide.

"Hi Ron." Her voice was a whisper.

Ron nodded heavily, still staring at her.

"I thought… I was hoping…" Her voice was tentative, faltering, and she looked down, pausing to take a deep breath, before looking back up. "I was hoping we could be friends again," she finished.

Ron looked surprised and stunned.

"I'm sorry for messing with your potion in Potions class," Hermione hurried on, earnestly. "I didn't mean to make you angry. I'd thought I would be able to help you, and I didn't mean to be so bossy or mean about it, and I'm so sorry I did. Please, Ron – I won't do it again." She bit her lip, plaintive. "Please. Can't we be friends again?"

Ron was still staring at her, stunned. Harry elbowed him sharply, giving him an angry look, and hastily, Ron nodded.

"Yeah," he said finally, still nodding. "Yeah, we're good, Hermione. And – I'm sorry for hurting your feelings when I said all those things about you."

He wasn't sorry for _saying_ them, Hermione noted to herself, just for her getting her feelings hurt over them. Tucking away that piece of knowledge, Hermione gave Ron a brilliant smile, settled down onto the bench next to Neville, and helped herself to a half a grapefruit.

"Anyone know what was up with Harry's broomstick yesterday?" she asked them. "Who'd want to kill you, Harry? You've only been at school a few months."

Immediately, conversation turned to the boys' various conspiracy theories about who wanted to bring Harry down. Hermione noticed that most of the boys' theories involved either Snape or Malfoy, and Hermione ended up playing the devil's advocate, knocking each one down.

"If Professor Snape wanted you dead, Harry, you'd be dead," she told him honestly. "He's powerful and scary. He'd slip you a poison in class or at dinner, and you'd go to bed feeling fine, and just never wake up. Or he'd give you something that would mimic the effects of an actual disease, and when you died from it, everyone would presume you'd just had an awful case of Dragon Pox. The last thing he'd do would be something so obvious as jinx your broom in public in front of the entire school."

The boys reluctantly agreed to this. Snape was scary, no matter what, and they were able to recognize that anyone Snape wanted dead would, in fact, end up dead.

"Malfoy might hate you, but he's not exactly strong enough to jinx your broom, either," Hermione said. "He only knows as much magic as you. We haven't learned anything as strong as a jinx to do anything like what we saw."

Their grudging agreement soon turned into crazed theories about Death Eaters infiltrating the school as students to bring down Harry, and Hermione couldn't bring herself to stop them – it was too funny, too interesting to hear them go off on wild tangents like this. It was after Ron suggested that five of them could have burrowed into the school grounds through abandoned gnome tunnels that Hermione had an idea.

"You know who we could check with, who might be able to help us out?" Hermione said, brightly.

The other three looked at her in confusion, shaking their heads.

"Hagrid," she suggested. "The groundskeeper."

* * *

Hagrid was a massive man that Hermione suspected was not entirely human. He'd also been expelled from Hogwarts in his third year, was older than he looked, and, Hermione suspected, not all there. He _was_ , however, friends with Harry, and Ron and Neville through Harry, so the three of them going down to visit Hagrid wasn't unusual for them at all. Hermione felt quite pleased with herself for finagling an invite as well as they all headed down.

Hagrid was pleased to see them, and even happier to see that the boys had brought her along.

"You brought a girl!" he exclaimed, looking on them proudly. "'ermione, is it?"

They were all shuffled inside and given tea and biscuits. Harry's wide eyes and slightly-shaking head warned Hermione against trying the latter, and Hermione managed a smile as she sipped at the weak tea.

Ron launched into a tale of what had happened to Harry and their theories, and Hermione entertained herself by looking around Hagrid's cabin and out the window. Hagrid had a large garden of sorts outside his house, and animal pens as well, though Hermione couldn't quite see all of them from her seat. The Forbidden Forest was eerily close to his hut, and Hermione wondered how often he ever ventured in.

"Ron, no one can burrow into Hogwarts!" Hagrid was laughing heartily now, slapping his knee. "You can't get past the wards on the grounds!"

Ron's face was red and he looked very annoyed, while Neville looked relieved. Harry looked thoughtful.

"That means it was someone on the grounds, then," Harry remarked, looking at the ceiling. "But who…?"

"I reckon you won't have to worry about it anymore, Harry," Hagrid said, ruffling his hair. "Professor Dumbledore will have heard about the jinxing, and he'll come to the next game. That'll make sure that nothing fishy goes on."

They made small talk about classes for a little longer, which was mostly Ron whining about Potions and Neville gushing about Herbology. Hermione let them go on a little, before giving Harry a pointed look.

"It's been great to see you, Hagrid," Harry said, standing and giving the man a hug. "We'd better get back up to the castle, though. We've all got that Potions essay to finish, still."

Hagrid smiled at Harry, and hugged each of them in turn, including Hermione. Hermione was surprised to be hugged, but slowly hugged him back. It was nice to be hugged – there wasn't much physical affection to be had in the Slytherin dungeons.

As they left, filing up towards Hogwarts, Hermione made sure she was last and lagged behind.

"It just occurred to me," Hermione lied, looking up at Hagrid, "that you might have some rope. I need some for an extra credit project. Do you have any extra rope lying around here?"

Hagrid grinned at her. "'Course I do, 'Mione. How much you need?" He walked around the back of his hut, Hermione carefully following.

"How much do you have?" she asked. "I'm not really sure how much I'll need."

"Here."

Abruptly, there was a massive coil of rope in her arms, and Hermione staggered under the weight.

"Oh! Sorry, there."

A moment later, there was a whizzing noise, and the rope retracted into itself, until all that was left was an embroidered sleeve the length of her arm.

"Retractable rope, that is," Hagrid said, nodding. "It's meant as a lead for a magical creature. Strongest rope there is. I'm not sure how much rope goes into it, but it's a whole lot."

Hermione stared. A _lead?_ A rope this thick?

"I can borrow this?" Hermione said, clutching the magic rope sleeve. "Are you sure? I might need it for a few months, Hagrid…"

"Nah, it's fine," Hagrid said, waving her off. "Not using it anymore, am I? Only need the one for Fang, here."

He nudged the lazy dog at his foot, who raised his head, looked at Hagrid with wide, soulful eyes, before putting his head back down on his paws. Hagrid sighed.

"Lazy git…"

Hermione looked at the thickness of the rope in her hand, thoughtful, before looking back up at Hagrid.

"You had another dog, Hagrid?"

Hagrid's face brightened. "Yeah," he said. "Called 'im Fluffy. Great dog – good dog – 'e was as loyal as they come. 'E preferred the forest, really, but 'e was great at playing fetch and helpin' scare anythin' off in the forest when I had to go inside… I'd play him a bit o' music to help him go to sleep at night, and he was just the sweetest thing…"

Hermione's suspicions grew.

"I'm so sorry you don't have him anymore, Hagrid," she told him, looking up at him with sad eyes. "Did something happen to him?"

Hagrid shook his head. "Nah. I let a friend borrow him for a while… needed him, to protect summat. Fluffy's a great protector."

"Protect something?" Hermione said, keeping her voice carefully innocent. "Would just Fluffy be enough?"

"Nah, 'e got all the others to help protect it too, e'eryone in the castle helped out…" Hagrid stopped short, seeming to realize what he was saying, and gave Hermione a suspicious look, but Hermione smiled at him innocently, as if she hadn't realized he'd said anything.

"That's good, then, right, Hagrid?" she said. "Then you'll get to get Fluffy back once your friend doesn't need whatever the thing is to be protected anymore."

Hagrid brightened at that.

"Yeah," he said. "Should only take a year… that'll be good, then… I miss him…"

Hagrid suddenly looked like he might cry, missing his dog, and Hermione took the chance to thank him again for the rope and escape, hurrying up the hill to the castle.

"Hagrid is only person on _earth,_ " she muttered to herself, clutching her magic rope, "the _only_ person, who would _ever_ name a three-headed dog _Fluffy._ "


	27. Hospital Wing

Draco had been right – it was fun to watch Ron lose his temper over the Slytherins' antics in the corridors.

It seemed almost as if the Slytherin boys had timed it and practiced. Draco started with jeering at Ron in front of the Potions classroom immediately before Potions class, about two minutes before the door would open. Hermione could see Theo counting down the time on a small watch, and Theo would give Draco a nod about 15 seconds before it would strike three o'clock exactly. Draco would finish his insult and sneer at Ron, who would immediately start yelling back and try to lunge at Draco, only to have Harry and Neville hold him back.

Inevitably, this would be the time Snape would throw open the door to the classroom, only to see Ron lunging at the Slytherins and yelling foul things. Delightedly, Snape would deduct points from Gryffindor for Ron's behavior, frequently from Harry and Neville as well, and threaten detention if Ron continued his caterwauling.

After several days, they got him outside of Transfiguration.

Theo had hung back to talk to Professor McGonagall after class, and the Slytherins had lingered around in the hall as classes dismissed. It happened that the Gryffindor first years got out of Charms at the same time, and when they'd 'run' into Ron complaining that he'd never get the hang of the Levitation Charm, Draco had been only too pleased to point out to Ron that he'd probably been born a Squib, if he couldn't master such easy magic, and it might save his family a lot of money if he'd just admit his disgrace and go home. Ron sputtered something indignantly about Draco's family, and Draco sweetly retorted with something about Ron's family living in a shack, his father being a Muggle-loving freak, and when Draco saw Theo appear, ended with implying that Ron's mother was a gnome.

The ensuing fight was as brutal as it was brief. With a yell, Ron had hurled himself onto Draco and began pummeling his face. Draco was screaming as Ron was yelling, beating his head into the stone ground, and Hermione's eyes were wide with horror.

"Mister Weasley!"

Professor McGonagall appeared around the corner, her eyes wide and her lips tight, and she roughly pulled Ron off Draco, who was covered in blood and whimpering.

"He started it!" Ron was quick to accuse. Harry and Neville were quick to back him up, only to silence when McGonagall cut them down with a curt look.

"Regardless of what childish insults were exchanged," she said tightly, "you, Mister Weasley, are in perfect health, while Mister Malfoy lies on the floor, his nose broken, bleeding heavily."

Greg and Vincent were helping Draco to his feet. Draco was stumbling, his eyes unfocused, and he seemed dizzy. Hermione was horrified and felt sick with worry. Surely this wasn't in the plan?

"Mister Goyle, Mister Crabbe, please help Mister Malfoy to the hospital wing," Professor McGonagall dismissed them. "Mister Weasley – 20 points from Gryffindor, and detention with me the rest of the week. The rest of you – get up to lunch."

The corridor became a scramble of activity as Ron wailed his objections to McGonagall, who remained firm. Hermione hurried after Malfoy, quickly catching up and helping him get to the Hospital Wing unscathed – Vincent and Greg weren't the best at working together navigating him around corners. They nearly dropped Draco a few times.

When they entered the Hospital Wing, blood covering Draco's front, Madam Pomfrey shrieked and hurried them over to a bed.

"What happened?" she demanded, peering into Draco's face, casting a light from her wand to look into his eyes.

"Yes, Miss Granger," a drawling voice came from behind her. "What happened?"

Hermione whirled around to see Professor Snape, standing in the shadows of the Hospital Wing. There was a box of potions nearby, and one of the cupboard doors was open. As she watched, he closed the cupboard and moved towards them, leaving the box behind. His eyes were glittering.

"Ron Weasley went ballistic on Draco after Transfiguration," she said steadily. "Ron was whining in the hallway about not being able to do the Levitation Charm yet, and Draco made a suggestion about why that might be. Ron seemed to take it personally and started insulting Draco's family, and when Draco defended them and shot back about Ron's own family, Ron jumped on Draco and started pummeling his face."

Madam Pomfrey's eyes went wide, while Snape's gleamed.

"And Mister Weasley had the self-restraint to stop, once he realized he'd broken Mister Malfoy's nose?"

"No – Professor McGonagall came around the corner moments later, and had to drag him off Draco," Hermione told them. "She took 20 points and gave him detention for the rest of the week."

"Detention for two days?" Snape stood, his robes draping down over his legs once again. He sneered. "An appropriate punishment for assaulting a classmate? I shall have to speak to her. I would see him expelled, for such brutality, or at least write the parents of those involved…"

Hermione shivered. To tell Draco's father about what had happened could very well end up in Ron being dead. From what she understood of Draco's family, Lucius Malfoy did not take threats to his family lightly.

"Ah, and Miss Granger?"

Hermione looked back up at Snape, who was in the doorway. "Yes, sir?"

His eyes glittered.

"Twenty points to Slytherin for helping your classmate in a time of need, keeping your head cool in a crisis, and an eidetic memory at recounting events," he told her. "Ten to each of you, Crabbe, Goyle, for helping Mister Malfoy to the Hospital Wing."

Greg and Vincent looked surprised. Hermione wondered if they'd ever earned points before.

Madam Pomfrey tutted as Snape left, and Hermione hurried back over to Draco's bed.

"Shoo, you," she said, gesturing to them. "You got him here – go get your lunch, now. I'll handle this."

Greg and Vincent left easily enough at the mention of food, but Hermione lingered.

"I'd really like to watch, if that's okay," Hermione told the nurse. "I'm curious about healing charms and spells, and I'm curious to see how you'll treat the concussion."

Madam Pomfrey glanced over at her, a small mote of respect in her eye.

"How do you know he's concussed?"

"It's a guess," Hermione admitted, "but his eyes are unfocused, he seems dizzy, and his head was slammed repeatedly into a stone floor. It seems logical."

Madam Pomfrey eyed her a moment later, before shrugging.

"This, girl, is how you first stop the bleeding…"

Hermione watched on as Madam Pomfrey explained how to stop bleeding, how detect internal hemorrhaging and stop _that_ , and how to reset a broken nose. She explained the diagnostic spell she cast and what some of the parts of it meant, and when she'd finished with Draco, Hermione could see that several red parts were now a cautious green. She gave him a couple potions (one to put him to sleep to help him recover, and one to replace the blood he'd lost), before sitting back.

"I'll keep him here overnight as a precaution," she told Hermione. "The concussion's been treated, but better safe than sorry."

"You're going to wake him up in the middle of the night and ask him questions?" Hermione asked.

Madam Pomfrey's lips twitched. "I'll run a diagnostic on him during the night and give him another blood replenishing potion. I doubt I'll need to do a check like that."

Hermione glanced over at Draco. He looked awfully pale and uneasy, even in his sleep.

"I'd like to stay here a while," Hermione told the nurse. "Just until he wakes up."

"You'll miss lunch," the nurse warned her. "You might miss your next class, too."

"It's just Defense," Hermione dismissed. "I'll stay here."

"Suit yourself," the nurse shrugged, but ten minutes later, she came out of her office with a sandwich and glass of juice for Hermione, and she and Hermione exchanged a smile.

* * *

When Draco woke up, he did so slowly, with a cautious fluttering of eyelids and a groggy countenance. Hermione was sitting next to him, munching on something and reading a book on healing charms. When she noticed him looking at her, she offered him a small smile.

"It's about seven o'clock," she told him. "You missed Defense. Dinner's still going on, but they brought something for you in case you woke up."

She nodded toward a tray on the nightstand. Draco kept looking at her, and Hermione bit her lip, fighting the urge to squirm under his gaze.

"Granger," he said finally. His voice sounded deeper, rougher, scratchy from his sleep. "Why are you here?"

Hermione frowned.

"Ron pummeled you and broke your nose," she told him. "Do you remember?"

"I know Weasley hit me," Draco said. "But why are _you_ here?"

"You were hurt," Hermione told him, slightly incredulous. "I wasn't just going to _leave_ you."

Draco stared at her as if she was an alien.

"Why not?"

Hermione bit her lip.

"No one should have to wake up in a hospital alone," she said finally. "At least, not the first time, when you don't know what's going on at all."

"So you stayed?" Draco raised an eyebrow.

Hermione shrugged. "So I stayed."

Slowly, Draco cracked a small smile.

"Better your face than Crabbe's ugly mug," he said, shifting to take his dinner tray. "Can you imagine the shock of waking up to _that?_ "

Hermione laughed, and then he asked her about Transfiguration that day, and abruptly, they were _talking._ Hermione couldn't believe he was talking to her at all, let alone in a friendly fashion. But it was nice to be able to actually converse with him – Draco was _smart,_ and he was fun to talk with. They had a happy argument over who had done a better job that day of turning a pinecone into a peach (it wasn't really a contest – Draco's had still had the texture of pinecone scales), before he asked her about the book in her lap.

"Healing charms? Those are fairly advanced," he commented. "Why're you reading about those?"

"They're not that hard. Some of them are pretty simple, at least," Hermione said. "And I figured – well, if you're going to keep picking fights with Weasley, we might need a healer in Slytherin sooner rather than later."

Draco stared at her, and Hermione squirmed.

"They're not that hard, really," she said. "Watch."

She took a scalpel from the nightstand that she'd snitched from Madam Pomfrey's workstation earlier and drew it across her forearm, blood immediately welling up. Draco made a choking noise and an aborted gesture, as if he'd been going to stop her but she'd been too quick. Hermione looked up at him quizzically. He was watching her now – a bit green, but he was watching. Hermione pointed her wand at the wound, hovering just above the cut.

 _"Episkey_ ," she murmured, and the cut neatly began to stitch itself back together, the skin repairing itself flawlessly under her wand.

Draco's eyes widened. Hermione grinned.

"See?" she told him. "This one can even set broken noses, and _Tergeo_ will get spilled blood off things, so as long as you don't get concussed again, we'll be able to escape more unnoticed, if need be."

Draco watched her for a long moment more.

"I see."

The conversation turned back to classes, with both of them complaining about History of Magic, then about Quirrell in turn. Madam Pomfrey appeared after they'd finished dinner to shoo Hermione back to her common room before curfew, and Hermione left rolling her eyes but with a grin, giving Draco a wave as she was chased out. She was pleased to see him smirking but giving her a wave back, and she was smiling to herself as she went back down the stairs.

She kept reading the book she'd borrowed from Madam Pomfrey the rest of the night, before retiring to bed a bit early, drawing the curtains around her.

Hermione bit her lip, considering. She'd been levitating her nightstand for a while, now, to drain her magic, and it was getting to be obnoxious, clearing it off every night so nothing would fall off as she lifted it up.

With a considering look, Hermione folded her legs on her bed and aimed at herself with a careful swish and flick.

_"Wingardium Leviosa."_

The spell most spectacularly did _not_ work, as Hermione lifted into the air for a moment before toppling over and off of her bed as it failed. Grimacing, Hermione pulled herself back onto her bed and considered carefully.

She'd managed to cast this on herself once before, but only enough to help get her out of the cave she was in. She hadn't actually managed to _levitate_ with it. Now that she thought about it, _Quidditch Through the Ages_ had said that wizards still hadn't managed to do unaided flight. She wondered how Snape had managed it, then – it was probably a secret. He _had_ asked her not to tell.

Considering carefully, Hermione took aim once again, but this time, carefully taking aim at her pajama bottoms, and _only_ thinking of her pajama bottoms in her mind.

_"Wingardium Leviosa."_

She managed it, but only just – she nearly toppled over herself, and her near-topple sent her wand moving widely, sending her further off balance. By tensing her entire torso and hunching over, Hermione managed to stay upright and keep the spell going for ten seconds or so, before she collapsed onto her bed, breathing hard.

"Not that, then," she muttered to herself, flipping over onto her stomach. She took aim at her trunk, flicked her wand and muttered, and levitated it for a few minutes until she couldn't any further, and it dropped, thudding to the floor.

Hermione went to bed feeling almost as if she'd torn an internal muscle. Trying to levitate herself had felt somehow _wrong_. She made a mental note to ask Snape how he'd done it – if she could learn, she wouldn't need the rope to get back up the next time she took a crack at the third-floor corridor.


	28. Exploring the Corridor -- Again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Illustration by the extremely talented Ivar Yves. Check out her work at https://www.instagram.com/IvarYves/ <3

Hermione took her next try at the trapdoor during the next Quidditch match. It was Ravenclaw versus Hufflepuff, and the entire school had poured out into the stadium to watch. Hermione had lingered behind in the Astronomy tower, watching them leave.

Carefully making sure the coast was clear, Hermione activated her music wand once again, cast a quiet _Alohomora_ , and crept into the forbidden corridor.

Once again, the giant dog seemed to immediately grow sleepy while listening to the music, its six ears drooping as it fell against a wall and slid down into an enormous puddle of snoring Cerberus. Hermione had to shove one of the back legs off the trapdoor to open it this time, revealing once more the deep blackness that it contained.

Carefully affixing the enchanted leash she'd gotten from Hagrid to her grappling hook, Hermione very carefully prepared herself, tying it to a normal rope harness she'd rigged up around her middle. Unable to prolong it much longer, Hermione cast _Lumos,_ and let herself fall.

The leash seemed to limit how fast the rope came out, for which Hermione was infinitely grateful, though she was still being careful, her hands skimming the rope and ready to halt it as soon as need be. The rope lowered her down and down and down and down, far past where Hermione had managed to reach before.

Finally, something came into view, and Hermione quickly stopped the leash from extending any further, before slowly lowering herself down little by little to examine what she saw.

It was a plant.

The floor seemed to be made of some kind of plant.

Hermione craned her neck further, before realizing she recognized it: it was Devil's Snare. There was some in the greenhouses, and they'd worked near it in Herbology class. Though it had an ominous name and would readily choke the life out of someone, she remembered that it was easily defeated by fire – something even a first year could create.

Now, more than ever, Hermione became sure that this was some sort of magical test.

She hesitated, looking up at her rope, and then looking down at the plant, before aiming her wand down.

_"Incendio."_

Fire leapt from her wand to the plants, which immediately curled away from the fire. Those caught in the flames writhed and withered into burnt husks, and Hermione carefully created a patch of burnt plants large enough for her to drop through.

There had to be another way out, Hermione hoped. If there was this plant floor, there had to be another door. A rope dropped through Devil's Snare would be destroyed, after the plants rebuilt themselves to fill in the damage done.

Biting her lip and clenching her eyes shut, Hermione let go of the rope.

There was only a moment of burnt plants hitting her face before she landed on a stone floor, and she toppled over, caught off-balance. When she stood, the Devil's snare was about 8 feet above her, spread across the area in a green canopy.

Hermione looked around. She seemed to be deep beneath the school now, in unused classrooms or dungeons from long, long ago. She was relieved to see two doors – one that was quiet and unassuming, and looked for the life of her like any other classroom door she might find, and one that glowed with a golden light, that had the sound of wings behind it.

Hermione headed towards the light and opened the door.

Dozens and dozens of tiny jeweled birds flew around lazily, with multicolored wings. It took Hermione a long moment to realize that they weren't birds – they were _keys._ And all of them were floating around on charmed wings. She noticed a few brooms leaning up against a far wall, and Hermione's heart sank.

Though she was certain it wouldn't work, Hermione tried the door on the other side of the room anyway. It was locked, and _Alohomora_ did nothing to help.

Hermione examined the situation more carefully. The door was sturdy, with an old-fashioned silver handle on it and a hole for a key beneath the handle. There were nearly a hundred keys flying around, and she was clearly meant to catch one and use it to open the lock. But Hermione was well aware of her flying ability – without having a butterfly net to trap and catch all of the keys and try them one by one, there was no way she'd be able to catch keys with her bare hands.

Taking a deep breath to focus, Hermione considered her options.

First: she could try to catch the keys. She almost immediately dismissed this idea as silly – she'd never manage anything skillful on a broom.

Second: she could ignore the keys and try to destroy the door. It was wooden, and it might respond to _Incendio._ Hermione dismissed this idea too – if the lock was spelled to resist _Alohomora,_ it was likely that the entire door was spelled to resist magic.

Third: she could try to catch the keys in an unorthodox way – summoning them, perhaps. If she could summon them to her, it'd be much easier, and she could shove the wrong ones into her bag until she found the right one, and then let them loose.

Hermione gnawed her lip uneasily. Though she'd read about the summoning charm, she hadn't yet managed it. It was a much higher-level spell than she knew how to cast right now, and to be honest, she didn't think her magical core was big enough to succeed at it yet.

This was clearly the charms test, Hermione thought. The summoning charm was a charm, so that might be the answer the tester was looking for. That seemed unfair, though, when everything else was something even a first year could manage. But maybe that was the reason for the brooms – everyone received flying lessons as a first year, after all.

Looking at the door, a fourth idea slowly formed in her mind.

Fourth: she could try to pick the lock on the door.

The more she thought about it, the more it seemed to have merit. Hermione turned the logic over in her mind, examining the idea.

1\. The door and lock were enchanted to resist spells.

2\. Because the door was enchanted to resist spells, the key would need to _physically open_ the door. Meaning, the key wouldn't just be a magical trigger – the act of _turning the key_ would open the door.

3\. If the door's lock needed to be _physically opened_ , a lock pick would work just as well, as it would _physically unlock_ the door.

The only thing was the door might be protected against lock picks somehow, with some kind of shield spell or ward. Hermione bit her lip. She doubted that would be the case – lock picks were such a _Muggle_ thing, after all, and any such spell would probably prevented a key from working too. But it was still possible.

Well… it was worth a try?

Digging in her explorer's kit, Hermione withdrew the set of lock picks her father had sent her.

The kit came with five different little tools, and a small paper describing what each one did. The back of the paper had incredibly poor drawings of how to pick a lock, and Hermione found herself disregarding it and relying on what she'd read in a crime novel once as a child – pushing the wrench slightly to the side to put tension on the lock, and carefully using the little squiggly bit to feel for and push the pins up one by one.

It was frustrating, as she was guessing what she was doing. The door and the lock were old, and the pins were big and heavy. But when Hermione felt the first pin click, there was a rush of success, and the next pin came faster, and then the next, and then the next.

By the time the final pin clicked into place, Hermione was grinning proudly. She'd managed to use Muggle technology to get around a magical puzzle, and she was feeling quite smug, if she did say so herself. The doorknob yielded as she tried it once more, and she strolled through to see what was next.

Her eyes widened at the giant chessboard, and her face fell.

Hermione _hated_ chess.

Chess was something that super-villains played dramatically in movies, or what heroes and generals used as a painfully obvious visual metaphor. In the real world, chess was a frustrating game that Hermione _despised_.

At a young age, Hermione had wanted to be good at chess. It was a skill that seemed to be a prerequisite to being a smart person – all intelligent people enjoyed playing chess and playing it well. Hermione's parents had taught her the rules, and she'd been entered in a Youth Chess League, where once a week, children would play chess against one another for points.

It was the one thing she'd failed at – badly. She had lost nearly every game.

Humiliated, Hermione had read the strategy books. She learned different moves, different ways of getting checkmate, different tricks and traps. She even went to a chess training camp for a week one summer, trying to learn, trying to get better.

It was to no avail. The week she lost to a boy three years her junior, she had quit chess, and she never looked back.

Hermione's mind just didn't _work_ for chess. She could see strategies and ideas, but she would focus on _one_ , and then scramble to regroup when her opponent ruined that one. She wasn't able to hold onto many different possibilities at once while still holding onto strict rules. Hermione did best when carrying out a set plan, and then thinking on the fly and thinking out of the box when any disruptions occurred. You couldn't _do_ that in chess – there were very firm rules about what could and could not be done – and as a result, Hermione was a very poor player indeed.

Hermione walked around the chessboard grimly. The enormous white pieces moved to block her path as she tried to get past them, and it became clear that she was expected to become one of the black pieces and play.

Was she supposed to play and win? Or just play her way across the board? Hermione was moderately sure she could manage the latter, but if it were the former? She was in trouble.

With a scowl, Hermione cast a last glance back, memorizing the layout of the room, before slamming the door behind her, storming back through the key room, slamming that door, and investigating the dark, unassuming door on the other side of the Devil's Snare area.

It was unlocked. Still frustrated, Hermione pulled it open and stepped through.

The world seemed to tilt on an axis, and Hermione screamed as she fell through what felt like dimensions of spinning doors, before she landed with a _splat_ right outside the forbidden corridor, as if the ceiling itself had spit her out.

With a groan, she stood, rubbed her back, and reluctantly went back into the forbidden corridor to gather up her things. She couldn't just leave her music wand or leash there for anyone else to find. Besides, she'd need them again once she figured out how to get past the stupid chess death trap – and she _would_ figure out a way, she swore.

One way or another, she'd make it past that board.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Illustration by the extremely talented Ivar Yves. Check out her work at https://www.instagram.com/IvarYves/ <3


	29. An Unexpected Discovery

**Author's Note: This chapter addresses the sexuality of preteens. There is nothing explicit, and it is handled in a realistic manner.  
**

**If this content disturbs you, consider skipping this chapter.**

* * *

Despite her slowly-growing camaraderie with the rest of the Slytherins, Hermione continued to study with Harry, Neville, and Ron in the library. More frequently, it seemed like Harry and Ron were too busy working on a secret project, trying to find some obscure piece of information to do with flannel. Ron refused to talk to her about the project, while Harry would look at her apologetically whenever she asked. Hermione found she didn't really care, despite Ron's goading – whatever the Gryffindor boys were looking into, she was certain that the Slytherin Fashion Code wouldn't allow her to wear flannel, even if it did something amazing like protect against curses and burns.

She enjoyed talking with Harry and Neville immensely, when Madam Pince wasn't near their table. While Hermione was able to hear the school gossip from Tracey and Pansy back in her dorm, it was fascinating to her to hear what _boys_ considered gossip and would spread around.

It was through one such gossip session that Hermione learned she was popular with the Ravenclaws.

 _"What?"_ she hissed at Neville, bewildered. _"How?"_

Neville blushed brilliantly, while Harry shrugged and grinned.

"The Ravenclaws think you're some brilliant goddess of knowledge, what with you always knowing everything," he teased her. "They're kind of intimidated by you, I think, because you're usually always around the other Slytherins."

" _I'm_ a Slytherin," Hermione automatically responded. "Of _course_ I'm always around the Slytherins."

"They really admire you, Hermione," Neville said. "I bet if you visited them, they'd all want to be your friend. They all say nice things about you when you're not there."

"That, and your Halloween photos probably help," Harry said with a sly grin. "At least with the boys."

Hermione paused, her eyes narrowing.

" _What_ Halloween photos?"

Harry's and Neville's eyes widened and they exchanged a wary look, before, hesitantly, Harry began to speak.

Ernie MacMillan, apparently, had kept a set of the photos he'd taken of Hermione for her parents. He'd been proud of how they'd turned out, or something like that, Harry stressed, which was why he kept a set. Michael Corner had seen them, however, and asked Ernie for a copy, which Ernie had made and given him.

Terry Boot, in turn, had seen Michael's photos, and had wanted a copy as well. After Terry got some, Blaise Zabini and Anthony Goldstein had wanted some, and suddenly, nearly every guy in her year had seen Hermione's too-short Muggle witch costume photos with her failing to stay on a broom.

Neville's face stayed a steady red while they were telling the story, and Harry looked uneasy as he spoke, but Hermione could tell he was being forthright. When he finished, Hermione was torn between horrified embarrassment and indignant rage.

"He _sold_ them _?_ " she fumed. "Ernie just _sold_ my photos to anyone who asked?"

Harry winced but didn't deny it, and Hermione groaned, clutching her head.

"So _everyone_ has seen me dressed up like a Muggle witch?" she moaned. "And pretending to fly on a broom?" She paused. "…did Ernie give them _all_ the pictures? Even the ones where I kept messing up and falling off?"

It was Harry's turn to shrug, but Neville nodded behind him, red.

Abruptly, Hermione stood from the table, shoving her books into her bag in a very non-Hermione-like manner.

"I think I need to go see Ernie," she told them sweetly, before slinging her bag over her shoulder and storming off.

She found Ernie in the old Charms classroom that was used for the Gobstones club. When she knocked on the doorway and asked if they could spare Ernie for a moment, she was careful to keep her face soft and tone normal, and Ernie even had the gall to grin and nod at her as he said something to his teammates, before rising to join her in the corridor. Keeping her touch light, Hermione nimbly plucked Ernie's wand from his front pocket as he closed the door, distracting him with a smile.

A moment after he had closed the door, Hermione had her wand at his throat, her eyes flashing, and Ernie's eyes went wide with alarm.

"What-"

"Do not you _what_ me, Ernie MacMillan," Hermione seethed. "Are you, or are you not, selling photos of me to anyone who asks?"

She could see the unease creep onto his face as he hesitated, and Hermione felt her rage grow.

"I thought you were _nice!_ " she spat. "You were _nice,_ offering to do me a favor, and instead, I learn you're just making fun of me behind my back!"

"What? No, Hermione, I didn't-"

Hermione dragged Ernie down the hall by his collar to the next empty classroom, Ernie stumbling awkwardly along, sputtering objections.

She shoved him inside and slammed the door shut. With a furious levitation charm, all the old desks and chairs threw themselves out of the way to pile against the walls, Ernie gaping openly at the display of power. Hermione threw his wand at him, her gaze furious.

"We'll see who will be laughing now." Her eyes narrowed. "Can I trust you not to cast until the count of three, or will you cast at me behind my back?"

Ernie's eyes flew wide. " _What?_ Hermione, no! I'm not going to duel you-!" He scrambled for something in his robes, and Hermione rolled her eyes with an exaggerated sigh.

"Well, I'm going to duel you, so if you don't put up some sort of fight, this will-"

Abruptly, a pile of papers hit her chest, and Hermione looked at Ernie incredulously.

"What's this?"

Ernie looked like he was trembling, but he remained fast.

"The photos," he told her steadily. "The set that the boys all bought."

Hermione kept her eyes on him, making sure he wasn't going to curse her, before slowly, slowly bending down.

The first thing she noticed was there were more photos than the set Ernie had given her – this set was much larger. Carefully keeping an eye on Ernie, she began flipping through them, her eyes slowly widening.

There were normal ones: Hermione posed in the window, Hermione smiling at the camera, Hermione sitting on the broom. They were good photos, and Hermione looked especially nice with her hair and make up done. But there were other photos: Hermione reaching for a book in the library, her skirt hem rising up as she stretched, her shirt rising with her arm to reveal a stretch of her stomach. Hermione laughing at something in the library, bending over with her eyes dancing, her shirt slipping open at the top. Hermione trying to balance on the broomstick, accidentally flashing a long, bare leg as she climbed on, before sitting down on it and throwing the camera an amused look – a look that had been self-deprecating amusement at the time, but now looked flirtatious instead.

She flipped through them, understanding dawning as she looked.

"No one was making fun of you, Hermione," Ernie said, stepping towards her slowly. "It- you looked so-"

Hermione's eyes shot up. "Looked so _what?_ "

Ernie winced.

"You have to realize," he began, "that in the wizarding world, there's not really – there's not any photos like these. Everyone is covered up all the time, generally, and there's not any photos of people being so- of people flirty on film."

"Of being sexy," Hermione said flatly, and Ernie winced.

"It's not a _bad_ thing," he told her, anxious. "And it's not like any of them are explicit or anything! It's just- you look _good_ in the photos, Hermione! You should be proud! And guys just wanted a copy to look at themselves, y'know? 'Cause they're so nice!"

"I should be _proud_ that my classmates are looking at photos of me like I'm some pin-up model?" Hermione's tone was dangerous, and Ernie swallowed hard, taking a step back. "I'm appalled that you even _want_ these – we're only eleven and twelve!"

Hermione abruptly realized she'd backed Ernie up against the wall without meaning to when he stumbled upon hitting it, and gradually became aware that she was poking him with her wand in the chest. She frowned and lowered it but kept her eyes on Ernie, filled with a hateful glare.

"Who all did you sell these to?" she snapped, and Ernie fumbled with his robes.

"I- ah- I don't know, but I have a list somewhere," he told her. "I kept a list of everyone who bought a set, and a list of any ideas they had for the future, too-"

"For the _future?_ " Hermione said, incredulous, and Ernie held up his hands in surrender.

"Some of the guys who got your photos had ideas. Y'know, for further photo shoots." He winced. "I never said anything about them to you, obviously, but I kept a record just in case-"

His eyes implored her to believe him, and, rather disgustedly, Hermione found she did. Stepping back, she allowed him a little room to breathe, and Ernie picked his wand up from the floor. Hermione gnawed at her lip, her mind racing.

"You will tell _no one_ about me cornering you here," she told him. " _No one._ If I hear that you have breathed a _word_ of this discussion to _anyone_ , I _will_ challenge you do a duel in front of the entire school, and you _will_ lose."

Ernie nodded slowly. Hermione knew he didn't have any doubts as to which one of them was the more powerful caster.

"You will send me this list. Both the list of people who bought the photos, and the photo shoot ideas. _Both_ lists. I want these lists by the end of the day tomorrow." She glared at him. "So you had _better_ make sure you find them."

Ernie nodded slowly. Hermione wrenched her face up, torn, before making a harsh sound.

"You will continue to sell the photos to anyone who asks – third year and down, only," she said finally, and Ernie's eyes widened. "You will send me a note with the name of anyone who does, however. I want to know everyone who has them." She paused. "How much are you selling them for?"

Ernie thought. "The five best ones for four galleons. The entire set for twenty."

Hermione fought to keep her eyes from bulging. _Twenty galleons_ for pictures of _her?_

"You will send me half of the earnings," she informed him. "Post and future earnings. And don't even pretend you don't still have their gold, Ernie – you're cooped up in a castle with nowhere to spend it."

"I- alright," Ernie conceded. "I understand."

"Good," Hermione said, tossing her hair. She looked back at him. "And you, of course, will not speak of this little conversation to anyone?"

"Not a word," Ernie agreed. "Not a peep."

"Then get out of here," she told him, opening the door with a flick of her wand. "Go back to your gobstones club and get out of my sight."

Ernie scrambled around a fallen desk to do just that, and once he had left, Hermione sighed, pinching her nose tightly and counting to thirty before finally heading for her dorm. Once she reached there, she threw herself down on her bed with a huff, thinking.

Really, the part that annoyed her the most was that it had been happening without her permission, she decided. Now that she knew about it, and she could control it, Hermione found it didn't bother her as much as she'd thought it would. And she had the perfect alibi – _Ernie_ was doing it, not her, and she had no idea that he was selling her photos. She could show a teacher the set she'd been given, and Hermione thought that if the situation called for it, she'd be able to manage furious tears of indignation and horror – _especially_ if she was worried about getting in trouble with a teacher.

Deep inside of her, so deep she didn't want to explore it too deeply, Hermione found it kind of flattering. Her classmates had thought _she_ was so pretty that they _actively_ wanted to look at her. Hermione had never felt that kind of attention before.

And really – was it so different from the photos the paparazzi took of child movie stars?

Rolling over on her bed with a groan, Hermione reached for a book to distract her mind.

She'd made her decision. There was no use agonizing over it any further.


	30. The Package

Hermione tried to put the issue with the pictures with Ernie out of her mind. It made her uncomfortable to think about. And she felt kind of uncomfortable about the fact that she was uncomfortable about it; a true Slytherin should only see the opportunity and potential in such circumstances, she thought. Whereas she just felt… odd, about the entire thing.

Ernie had provided the list to her, and while there had been more names on it than she'd expected, she'd barely glanced at it before tucking it away in her trunk. She didn't want to think about it.

There was something she didn't like about the entire thing. The pictures didn't even look like her, really – she'd done her hair and makeup and worn a costume. In real life, her hair was a big bushy cloud most days, not gentle waves. She certainly didn't have long eyelashes and softly smoky eyes most days – usually, her eyes were sharp, sometimes with dark circles under them from when she stayed up too late reading. And she wore the same robes and uniform as everyone else.

It felt like people were looking at a fake version of her. It was weird, to think about. If they liked the pictures of her more than how she actually looked day to day, what did that mean? Did they look at the picture and superimpose that image on her? Hermione wasn't sure what she thought of it all, and she disliked thinking about it, though it kept cropping back up in her mind.

When a large, misshapen package arrived for Hermione one morning, carried by a very tired owl, Pansy was the one who noticed, as Hermione had been distracted again.

"It's here!"

Daphne and Tracey were quick to elbow her and hiss at her to be quiet, and Hermione smirked as she untied the package from the owl, tearing open the envelope on top.

_Dear Hermione,_

_Your first order put you at a higher tier of Avon saleswoman, so you're now making 15% on anything you sell. I'm not sure what sort of school girls you go to school with, who are able to drop hundreds of pounds on makeup all at once, but color me impressed. I used to make pocket change in school by selling candy bars. You clearly have the better plan._

_The order came in rather quickly – it was stripping the labels off for you that took longer. If you need things faster in the future, I can send them with the labels on, and you could magic them off? Just a thought._

_Dad and I both miss you terribly, and we're terribly curious what all you're getting up to! We look forward to seeing you over the holidays. We eagerly count the days._

_Much love,_

_Mum_

_P.S. Yes, we can go to London to visit your Diagon Alley again over the break._

Hermione grinned and pocketed the letter. She nodded to the other girls, who were nearly shaking with suppressed squeals. Unfortunately for them, it was a Tuesday, and they had class to go to. Hermione barely had any time to run to her room and stash the package away.

Herbology that day was easy – a lesson on how to properly weed plants. Hermione suspected it was more for the pureblooded people who had never had to garden in their life, but she paid mild attention all the same. She was amused to see Pansy checking the clock every few minutes, and Daphne also staring at her watch, clearly longing.

When the bell finally rang, Hermione was swept up in a race back to the dorm rooms before lunch.

"Give it give it give it!" Tracey said, bouncing on her feet.

"I'm so excited," Daphne admitted, looking flushed. "I can't wait to see what I can look like with this."

"I can't wait to curl my hair," Pansy announced. "It will change my life."

Hermione let a small smile play around her lips as she unwrapped the package, carefully checking the order form she'd written out with what had been sent. In order to make the math easy, Hermione had just charged whatever the price was in pounds, but in galleons instead. A £5 mascara, therefore, cost 5 galleons. With the exchange rate being roughly £5 to a galleon, Hermione was pocketing 80% pure profit on each transaction, not counting Avon's commission rate.

It was exorbitant, but the girls had paid it.

And it had added up. Pansy had paid 45 galleons for her hair curler, leaving Hermione with 36 galleons of profit from one sale alone. She had amassed a nice bundle of galleons to put into her vault when Christmas time came.

"Tracey," Hermione said, handing Tracey her pack. Tracey had gotten some eyeshadows, eyeliner, and mascara, as well as a powder. She hadn't had the money to get too much.

"Thank you," Tracey said reverently, taking the package with care. She hurried over to her bed and began examining everything, wide-eyed.

"Millie," Hermione announced, handing Millicent her things. Millicent had gotten a bit more, and she offered Hermione a rare grin as she took it from her.

"Pansy." Pansy had ordered a lot, nearly one of each main item, in addition to her hair curler. Pansy snatched her things from Hermione's hands, hurrying to her bed with it.

"And Daphne."

Daphne smiled at Hermione, and carefully looked through her things. Daphne had ordered a nearly everything – eyeshadows, eyeliners, lipsticks, lip glosses, highlighter, bronzer, powders, compacts, foundation, concealer, a curling iron, and even 'magic wipes' that helped cleanse your face of the potions before you went to bed, so as not to clog your pores.

Hermione had made a lot of money from Daphne alone. A lot.

Hermione smiled as she watched her roommates dig through their new things. After advising them to be careful, reminding them to make sure they all looked natural, and tossing them photo tutorials she'd asked her mother to cut and copy from Muggle fashion magazines, Hermione went down to lunch. She felt a bit better, now – her scheme was working, and she wouldn't have to wear make up herself anymore, now, if she didn't want.

She saw Harry approaching the Gryffindor table, and she quickly pulled him aside.

"I need a favor," she said quickly. "If anyone comments on how different the first year Slytherin girls look, don't say anything, alright?"

Harry blinked. "Why?"

"I've started selling them Muggle makeup," Hermione admitted. "But they don't know that. If they can keep it subtle enough and keep it a secret, I'm hoping I can make a mint off them before they figure it out."

Harry looked like he was trying not to laugh.

"I'll do my best to not react," he told her with a grin. "But if Pansy shows up with green glittery eyelids, no promises I won't laugh."

"Fair enough," Hermione agreed with a smile.

Lunch wasn't crowded that day, so Hermione settled in with a book. After lunch was History, and Hermione watched as her classmates carefully returned. To her surprise, none of them looked like they had done anything, save a little bounce to Pansy's hair.

Daphne sidled up to Hermione. "We decided that if we all looked abruptly different in the middle of the day, it'd be really obvious something had changed," she explained in a hushed voice. "We all agreed to gradually start using things, so we gradually look prettier and prettier."

"That's smart," Hermione told her, nodding. "Good thinking."

History was an incredible bore, and Hermione took her book out to read. Halfway through class, she was surprised to see a small owl charmed out of paper fly over to her and flatten out in front of her. Looking around curiously, she met Blaise's gaze. He was grinning at her. Raising an eyebrow, she flattened it out.

_You're learning to play chess?_

Immediately, Hermione scowled at the note. She'd been reading a chess strategy book, trying to memorize patterns. She wasn't about to let a stupid game stop her from winning the obstacle course.

 _I'm trying to get better at chess,_ she wrote back. _I already know how to play._

She sent the note fluttering back, watching as it flapped along the floor. Blaise opened it, grinned, and scrawled something back.

 _I'm good at chess,_ the note said. _Want to practice in the Common Room some time?_

Hermione considered. Given she was horrible at chess, any help she could get would be a plus, though she'd have to sacrifice her pride to reveal that to him. She didn't think Blaise was offering because he knew about the giant chess board, but she'd be able to subtly probe if they played together. Why was Blaise offering, though?

 _Blaise never cared what your blood status was,_ Theo's voice echoed in her head. _He cared that you were Slytherin, female, and attractive._

Hermione bit her lip to force back a smile, remembering how he'd demanded a kiss as payment for his help with the Cerberus.

Looking over at him, she nodded, and a wide smile spread across Blaise's face, provoking a smile from Hermione in turn.

Even if she didn't learn to get better at chess, these lessons had the potential to be fun all on their own.


	31. Office Hours

Though it wasn't well known or well-used amongst the first years, the professors did, in fact, keep office hours. Hermione suspected office hours were mostly used by OWL and NEWT students, but they were open to anybody.

Snape's office hours were scarce and generally late in the evening, and uncomfortably close to curfew some days. Hermione suspected that this was to discourage people from visiting him during office hours and to give preference to the Slytherins, who could make it back to their dorm much quicker than the other Houses to make curfew.

Even knowing Snape gave the Slytherins preferential treatment, it still took Hermione several minutes to get up the courage to knock on Snape's door.

"Enter."

Determinedly keeping her back straight and her shoulders up, Hermione entered.

Snape's office held similarities with his classroom, but had better light, a better chair, and carpet. There were shelves with unpleasant-looking things in jars behind him, but they looked less threatening when they were seen in better light. Hermione took her time looking around, noting with some astonishment that Snape seemed to have appropriated a cushioned Muggle office chair from somewhere.

Snape looked up at her from his grading and raised an eyebrow. "Yes, Miss Granger?"

Hermione closed the door and took a seat in front of him, fighting the urge to swing her legs and bite her lip.

"That night the troll attacked," she said finally. "You came and got me from the window sill."

Snape's face immediately grew shuttered.

"You agreed never to tell anyone about that," he said.

"And I haven't," Hermione said quickly. "But…" She hesitated, biting her lip and looking up at him.

Snape's voice gentled. "But…?"

"Will you teach me how to do it?" she asked, all in a rush.

Snape blinked. "Teach you…?"

"How to fly," Hermione said, biting her lip. "Without a broom. Just… myself. Like you did."

Snape, in general, wasn't an expressive person, unless it was sneering and smirking and scowling. Now, his eyes grew very large, and he looked like he was trying not to show what he was feeling.

"Why, Miss Granger," he demanded, "do you want to know how to fly?"

His voice was harsh again, and Hermione blinked at the change, tilting her head.

"Because it was incredible," she told him honestly. "And I'm not overly fond of brooms. I'd love to be able to fly, even if just a little, to reach the top shelves of a bookcase, or to stop myself from dying if I'm ever pushed from the Astronomy tower, or even just for fun, like the Quidditch team does."

"In case you are pushed…?" Snape looked alarmed. "Miss Granger, are people threatening you?"

Hermione looked away. "Not really. Just… making remarks." She shrugged. "My classmates are all pretty okay now, but some of the older students still hiss things under their breath at me."

Snape's eyes hardened. "Who?"

"I don't know their names," Hermione admitted. "Just… there are a lot. Slytherin puts a lot of value on pureblood ancestry. And… I don't have that."

Snape looked at her again, considering.

"Flying autonomously is very, very difficult, Miss Granger," he told her. "There are very few wizards who can do it."

Hermione nodded. "I figured that's why it wasn't common," she told him. "It'd make sense why you can do it, then, but not any of the other teachers."

Snape looked taken aback for a moment at the compliment, before refocusing.

"Because of this, you would not be able to fly," he told her. "You simply don't have the magical power necessary."

"I thought of that too," Hermione said quickly. "But sir, I'm much smaller than you, and I weigh much less. I know that it requires immense magical power to fly… but perhaps it would require much less for a smaller person to fly?"

Snape looked down his nose at her, raising his eyebrows.

"You want to try regardless?" he asked her. "Despite my confidence that it will not work?"

Hermione hesitated.

"Has anyone ever tried to teach a child how to fly?" she asked. "Or anyone that hadn't finished their growth spurt?"

Snape looked like he was actually considering it, now.

"I know of two people in the world who can fly autonomously, Miss Granger, and I am one of them," he told her. "The Dark Lord was the other."

If he thought she was trying to be like the Dark Lord, it explained why he was so alarmed she wanted to learn.

"Three's a good number of people," Hermione said, offering him a smile. "There's no harm in trying, is there?"

Snape stared at her, before reclining in his chair with a sigh.

"Regardless, I don't think you have the magical capacity yet, Miss Granger," he told her. "You are still very young. I doubt your power has even begun to exponentially grow yet."

"I'm very strong for my age!" Hermione objected. "And I've been practicing – wait, what?"

Hermione stopped and looked Snape.

"…what do you mean, my power hasn't begun to exponentially grow yet?" she asked suspiciously.

Snape looked amused.

"It is known that at the onset of puberty, a witch or wizard's power begins to grow exponentially, fully maturing when they are seventeen," he told her. "Currently, your power is only increasing linearly."

Hermione stared at him.

"Is this one of those things that everybody just _knows_?" she demanded. "Do all the purebloods just _know_ that this is how power reserves work?"

"I doubt it," Snape told her. "I was made aware of this through somebody's… private research."

Hermione's mind was racing, and she started pacing the floor.

"If my power reserve started growing at eleven, and it stops at seventeen," she murmured. "In order to… Sir, what counts as the 'official onset of puberty'?"

Snape raised an eyebrow.

"For a witch, when she first bleeds," he told her. "For a wizard… generally, the first nocturnal emission, or emission done otherwise."

Hermione nodded, doing her best to seem professional, despite the topic.

"I've already been eleven for a year, and twelve for a few months," she murmured. "Average age for a girl to get her period is twelve and a half, so that's still half a year away. In order to maximize it…"

Her mind raced. She was going to have to figure out the optimal time to have her period, and try to force her body to have it then. She'd have to run numbers to see how best it would work – long enough that she had a good starting amount of power to increase exponentially, but not too long that it wouldn't increase exponentially for a long enough period of time. If there were actual _numbers_ behind all this that controlled how much power you got, she _had_ to try to maximize it. The risks if she didn't were too dire - what if _Pansy_ ended up more powerful than her simply because she got lucky with when she got her period?

"Miss Granger, you are purposefully trying to maximize your magical power?"

Concentration broken, Hermione looked back to Snape.

"Of course," she told him. "If I'm going to convince everyone that I'm New Blood, I need to be a powerful witch. Very powerful, probably."

Snape didn't so much as flutter an eyelid at the mention of 'New Blood,' confirming Hermione's suspicions – somebody had already informed him of her claim.

"How are you doing this?" he asked her.

"I've been casting spells each night until I've completely expended my magical power," Hermione told him. "If I keep pushing myself to the limit, I find that the next night, I can do a little more."

Snape looked impressed despite himself.

"This is working?" he said. "I've never heard of anything like this."

"Well, I made it up," Hermione told him, tossing her head. "I used to be only able to levitate a book for a little while, but now I can levitate my entire chest for several minutes. I tried to levitate myself to fly, but that didn't work. I was only kind of able to make it work when I levitated my clothes, instead, with me still in them."

"And now you want to learn to fly properly."

Hermione offered him a small smile. "Yes? Please?"

Snape sighed and pinched his nose slightly, rubbing it.

"Fine," he said finally. "I will teach you, even if only to see if it is possible to teach a child. It will be an interesting experiment, to say the least. If it works… well…"

He trailed off, but Hermione was hugging herself tightly and making an excited noise that just seemed to be slipping out. Snape gave her a grudging smile.

"Students who are actively trying to learn and maximize their potential do not often come through my classroom," Snape told her. "If you are looking for a teacher, I will teach you."

Hermione beamed at him.


	32. An Interlude

"Hermione, are the Slytherins all picking on Ron on purpose?"

Hermione looked up at Harry, who was sitting across the table from her in the library.

"What do you mean?" she asked, carefully side-stepping the question.

Harry sighed, running a hand through his hair, making it even messier than before.

"Ron's lost over a hundred points from Gryffindor for fighting in the halls, and it always seems like it's Slytherins who are baiting him," Harry told her. "Everyone in Gryffindor is furious with him and keeps telling him to just ignore any taunts, but with Ron's temper… it's like he can't."

Hermione bit the inside of her lip hard to keep from grinning.

"Ron's always had this thing against Slytherins from the start, Harry," Hermione pointed out. "Is it any real surprise that there's tension between him and them now?"

Harry sighed. "I guess not."

Hermione turned back to her essay, but she found her mind was drifting.

She'd been trying to think of how to provoke Ron into an explosive confrontation in front of lots of people while still seeming like his friend during it. Maybe this was a good pressure point. If Ron went off about Slytherin, and she defended her house, he might turn around and yell at her for it. She could start crying, then – Ron yelling at her in her face would be a probable cause to make a first year cry, right?

She made a mental note to talk to the others. They might have some ideas.

Setting the issue aside, she returned to her Defense Against the Dark Arts essay, determinedly using the correct resources to write it. Honestly, it seemed like Quirrell was purposefully trying to teach them the wrong information sometimes.

* * *

"Check."

Hermione glared at Blaise, who looked amused. Her eyes darting around the board, she carefully moved her rook.

Blaise moved his knight in response and grinned.

"Checkmate."

"Augh!" Hermione said, hiding her face in her hands. "I'm awful at this!"

"You're not that bad," Blaise told her, still grinning. "You're not good, but you're not bad."

"I am never going to get better at this stupid game," she despaired. "This is awful. Terrible. Horrible. Auugghhhh…"

Blaise snickered at her dramatics, before setting the chessboard up again.

"If you're so bad at it, why even play it?" he asked her. "You could always take up checkers or gobstones instead."

Hermione consciously bit her lip, trying to look like she was admitting a secret.

"…Weasley is really good at chess," she told Blaise. "For just once, I'd like to crush him…"

Blaise started laughing.

"You've got a way to go, then," he told her. "You're already creaming him in classes. Why is chess so important?"

"I just- I want to take the one thing he's so good at, " Hermione said, "and I want to beat him at his own stupid game-"

Blaise was still snickering at her fury.

"We'll have to think of another way for you to beat him, then, won't we?" Blaise said mildly.

Hermione gave him a look of despair. "Like what?"

Blaise shrugged, waving a hand. "I'll look into it. Don't worry."

Hermione gave him a suspicious look, and Blaise grinned, his eyes dancing.

"We're Slytherins, Hermione," he reminded her. "If we're losing, we just change the game."


	33. Winter Break

The days turned from fall to winter, and Hermione used a few of her Avon galleons to buy herself a Slytherin cardigan to wear during classes, matching most of the other girls in her dorm. The dungeons were considerably colder than the rest of the castle, and the first years all determinedly tried to learn warming charms together, despite charm's advanced level of magic. Hermione was the only one able to get it at all, but not to a very good degree, and not enough to keep a person warm.

Instead, she taught her classmates how to charm bluebell flames and put them in jars to keep warm, which impressed them. Theo, ever innovative, ran off and brought back empty potion vials, and soon they all had mini bluebell flames in flasks and vials stashed about themselves in all their pockets. Hermione even stitched one of them into the tag of her cardigan with her sewing kit. She knew her hair would cover the bump on her back.

Over time, the Slytherin girls gradually began wearing makeup. Hermione was impressed with how subtly they pulled it off. It started with mascara and eyebrow grooming, then concealer was added as they slowly added more to their routines. Pansy and Daphne began to use their hair curlers immediately, even helping to curl Tracy and Millie's occasionally. A warming charm to heat the metal was much easier to cast than a proper heating charm, and Hermione suspected it would be the one charm Pansy would ace without question on their finals at the end of the year.

The Slytherin boys tended to view the girls' changes with small suspicion, as if something was off, but they couldn't quite tell what – but the rest of the first-year boys seemed very appreciative. Hermione noticed Tracy and Millie's self-confidence grow as boys started to look at them, and she was happy for them, though a large part of her wasn't entirely thrilled with how this was all coming about.

The galleons, though, she needed. If she was determined to establish a House of her own, she would need money to do so. She was well aware of the kind of sums the older pureblood houses threw around as pocket change, and she knew she needed seed money to try and earn a fortune of her own. Somehow.

Classes continued to follow predictable patterns, and Hermione found herself easily at the top of most of them. She enjoyed the challenges Professor McGonagall would throw at her, but even those were getting easier to master, with her expanded core. Herbology was interesting, and Hermione wondered if it would tie in with Potions class at a higher level. Charms continued to be easy, and Potions…

Potions was the class where Hermione had the most fun.

Part of her felt distinctly bad for enjoying Potions so much, as a definite part of her enjoyment was seeing Snape berate Ron Weasley. Another part of Hermione felt pleased at it, though, and oddly touched by her Head of House's loyalty – he'd started yelling at Ron after the incident with the troll. Neville was still largely hopeless, but Snape had taken to sighing and vanishing his messes and making him start again without as much fuss, which seemed to help Neville to be slowly improving. Hermione wondered if Neville was only doing as poorly as he was because he was scared of Snape – Neville's essays always seemed alright.

The other fun part of Potions was brewing them. Hermione and Theo formed an excellent team, quietly bickering with each other in the back of the classroom on what to try and how to improve what they were brewing. It was also mentally challenging to be brewing the same thing, but different, in two different cauldrons at a time. She and Theo were getting very good at working as a team, able to anticipate the next move the other would make, though not all their experimental potions were successful.

Snape had given them a small testing kit, to begin figuring out what kind of substance they'd made. Hermione recognized some of the small pieces of paper as litmus tests, but there were other round parchments designed to have a drop of potion on them and change color diagnostically. When they were successful in making a known potion, the parchment would turn a glowing green. Whenever they failed, there was a dull red glow. Whenever they ended up with a poison, it would turn black, and an unknown substance that was safe to consume and would have some effect generated a blue. Hermione asked after the charm to make more of the strips, but Snape waved her off, saying it was something of his own creation, and very difficult to replicate.

Every night, Hermione was dutiful with her magical exhaustion training. Levitation was still the best and fastest way she'd found to exhaust her power reserves. She'd gotten good enough to keep her mahogany chest floating for long periods, so she was working on her bookcase next – with all the books on it, it was much heavier than her chest. She was considering trying her own bed after mastering the bookcase, but she was worried about the noise she might make if she failed. The last thing she needed was the other girls investigating what she was doing making loud noises after they were asleep.

As time continued, November easing into December, Hermione found Christmas rapidly approaching. She signed up to go home with the other Slytherins, which brought some mocking remarks from the older students that Hermione steadfastly ignored. Muggles or not, she desperately missed her family, and she had things she needed to do away from the school anyway. She wasn't about to celebrate the holiday with a group of people who still largely judged her.

Christmas, however, brought up a new issue: gifts.

Hermione had found a guide of sorts on gift-giving in a very, very old hostess manual for Yule. While there were rules on what presents to give clearly outlined, it was difficult not only to update the book's suggestions to more modern times, but to classify her classmates into the categories needed for giving appropriate gifts. Gift giving for Christmas was a big deal, and the last thing Hermione wanted to do was accidentally slight someone, or unknowingly give someone something romantic without the corresponding intention behind it.

There were so many possible categories, too. There was "Friends," but also "Close friends," "Acquaintances," "Allies," and "Coworkers." There were also categories for "Enemies who don't know they are your enemy," "Possible future romantic attachments," and "People of tainted blood whom you can't dismiss."

Hermione found herself making note of all the suggested gifts in the last category, intending to keep of list of anyone who sent her something from it.

By the time the break finally rolled around, Hermione was bouncing on the edge of her seat the whole ride back to London, and after exiting Platform 9 ¾, she ran to her parents and hugged them with all her might. Her father chuckled as she buried her head into his chest.

"Well, well. Did someone miss us?" he teased.

"Of course she missed us," her mother said, a smile in her tone. "The question is, how much did she miss us?"

Hermione felt her heart lift at her parents' voice.

"You have no idea."


	34. Bloodthorne

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Illustration by the amazing Ivar Yves! Check out her work at https://www.instagram.com/IvarYves/ <3

Because they were already in London, and her parents had taken the day off from their practice to come and get her, the Granger family all went to Diagon Alley to take care of Hermione's wizarding business as soon as possible.

Hermione dragged her parents to Madam Malkin's Robes first thing, asking Madam Malkin for a simple over-robe for both of her parents. The seamstress nodded knowingly and had her parents clothed in a jiffy, allowing them to blend into the rest of the alley seamlessly. Hermione didn't want any trouble with snobs to put a damper on the holiday.

Her mother and father accompanied her around to shops as she bought gifts for her friends. When Hermione expressed she wanted to go to the bank, her father shooed her off alone with a gleam in his eye, suggesting that he and her mother might need some Christmas shopping time alone. Hermione was so thrilled with the idea of getting a wizarding gift as a present that she nearly skipped her way across the street to Gringotts.

Gringotts was just as imposing as the last time. Taking a deep breath, Hermione opened the doors, approached the counter, and waited.

When it was her turn, the goblin standing there gave her an expectant look. It looked unpleasant. Going from what little goblin lore she had found in a book on humanoid creatures, Hermione carefully offered the goblin a respectful bow.

"I would speak with Bloodthorne," she said carefully. The goblin narrowed his eyes.

"Bloodthorne is busy," he informed her. "I would help you."

"I would wait for Bloodthorne," she told him back. "My time is my own, and I shall spend it waiting."

The goblin gave her an odd look, but he hopped down and left the counter. Hermione let out a deep breath she hadn't realized she was holding, feeling dizzy with a sense of relief. Dealing with the goblins was unnerving.

A few minutes later, Hermione saw a goblin walking towards her directly across the floor. When he reached her, he offered her a bow, and Hermione bowed back deeply. The goblin looked at her, and Hermione was surprised to see he seemed happy. The smile looked odd on the goblin's face.

"Miss Hermione Granger," he said. He grinned, showing all his teeth. "We meet again. Another exchange rate to haggle?"

"Bloodthorne," Hermione said, bowing again. She raised an eyebrow. "Not at all. There was a promise made, at our last meeting."

The goblin looked at her expectantly, and Hermione smirked.

"Loans," she told him. "We were going to discuss loans."

The smile that stretched across Bloodthorne's face now was distinctly less pleasant and much more predatory, and Hermione noted that it looked much more natural on the goblin's face than the smile had.

"Oh, yes," Bloodthorne said softly. "Let me get us a room, Hermione Granger, and we shall talk."

* * *

"So people will voluntarily agree to pay more than they borrowed?"

Bloodthorne still looked suspicious of the whole concept of loans, but there was a greedy spark in his eyes. Hermione held her patience and tried again.

"Yes. It's the concept of immediate need versus later obligations," she explained. "For example, if someone's roof falls in, they need to fix it immediately."

Bloodthorne gave her a look as if she was an idiot. "Of course."

"But what if they didn't have the money?" she challenged him. "What if it was a poor family, and they didn't have the 50 galleons to fix the roof?"

Bloodthorne's gaze was slow, measuring this time.

"You are saying they would borrow it," he stated.

"Yes. The bank would make an agreement with the family. The bank would loan the man the 50 galleons he needed now, and in exchange, he would pay back more than he took. It's called 'interest'," Hermione explained. "It can be done multiple ways. The arrangement could be that the man would pay the bank back in installments of 5 galleons a month for a year, for example – the bank would make 10 galleons interest, then. Or, the bank could agree to charge a percentage of the debt as interest, and have it accrue over time."

"How does that one work?" Bloodthorne's eyes glinted.

"I'm not entirely sure," Hermione admitted. She held up a sheaf of papers. "I brought some contracts that Muggles use for this kind of thing in the Muggle world that we could look at as examples."

Bloodthorne leaned over the table, and together they looked over the papers.

"I don't know the math to know how it works," Hermione told him. "Maybe if you have an Arithmancer? But a simpler repayment contract might go over better in the wizarding world, anyway. You say that this has never been done before?"

Bloodthorne shook his head. "Wizards loan money to each other, and to their friends, and the debt is backed by trust. They have never borrowed from the bank."

Hermione bit her lip, thinking.

"…is part of that because wizards are unwilling to borrow from goblins?" she asked, as delicately as possible.

To her surprise, Bloodthorne snorted.

"No. Wizards take from the goblins frequently. No, it is that the goblins have never been inclined to help wizards." He sneered. "However, this concept of… interest. This 'interest' changes things."

Hermione grinned. "Then it will work?"

"Oh, yes, it will work." Bloodthorne shot her a nasty, triumphant work. "It is as you said – we will have to use your account exclusively, as you alone have given us permission to use your gold for the loans, but in return, you will earn part of the return."

"Excellent." Hermione pulled another paper forward. "This is a draft of something I thought might work as a good standard contract. You fill in the numbers here – how much they are borrowing, how much they have to repay back each month, and how much is added to the debt as a late fee if they don't make a payment on time."

"Late fee?" Bloodthorne looked pleased.

"Yes. Then, here are the other terms – the terms of what the bank can seize as recompense against the loan if the borrower defaults."

Bloodthorne scanned the contract. "…if they do not pay back what they borrowed, we can take something of theirs?"

"Yes. It's called 'collateral'. It makes sure that the bank will always be paid back," Hermione explained. "If someone wants to borrow 100 galleons, they need to offer something the bank can take in case they don't pay it back. Most people don't care, because they know they'll just pay it back, but it can become very important. They might offer their house, for example, or a car. Maybe in the wizarding world, the copyright to a potion or book that earns money."

Bloodthorne's eyes glittered greedily.

"I understand entirely," he said. "I am ready."

"I have made you my exclusive account manager," Hermione told him solemnly. "I trust you will not bankrupt me?"

Bloodthorne gave her a nasty smirk.

"I will not use too much gold at a time for a loan," he told her. "I suspect that I shall have to mail you each contract for you to sign against – the Ministry is unlikely to honor a contract between a wizard and a goblin, but with you signing on the side of the Bank, there will be no legal out."

Hermione shrugged. "That's fine."

"All that remains, then, is for us to discuss your terms," he told her, "as you will be the one whose gold we will be borrowing."

Hermione straightened. This was the part she was expecting to be difficult.

"As it is your money, and you are allowing the bank to use it to gain money over time for free, the Bank offers you 85% of the interest earned, and a discounted price for any property seized by the bank in the event you desire it," Bloodthorne said, his eyes glinting.

Hermione had to bite her tongue hard to not gasp aloud. She'd been planning on offering the goblins 50/50, as they were the ones doing all the work. She'd expected a lowball offer like 35%, and to have to fight her way up to 50%. But if they were starting by offering her 85%...

Hermione's eyes narrowed.

"It's my gold, and I could do this all without the bank if I wanted," she said, putting her nose in the air. "95%, and I get any property seized by loan defaults."

Bloodthorne threw his head back and cackled delightedly.

"The witch has claws!" he exclaimed, looking at her with satisfaction. "90%, and you will have first claim to any property seized by the bank. If you choose to take it, the bank will recover the rest of the debt from your account instead."

Hermione considered. 90% was incredibly generous, in her mind. For Bloodthorne to be doing all the work, and only take 10%? He must either be expecting this to be incredibly lucrative over time or didn't fully realize how much power the bank had – there was no way Hermione had the time to be offering loans by herself. And the possibility of getting things through loans defaulting had potential. Wizarding property was expensive and hard to get.

"Deal, Bloodthorne," Hermione said, nodding.

Bloodthorne grinned. "We will sign."

The contract he drew up was kept very simple, in very simple and clear language, which Hermione appreciated. Bloodthorne signed with a different, fancier quill, and when Hermione used it, her hand burned as she signed, and she abruptly realized the ink was a shining red.

"Is that my blood?" she said, stifling a wave of nausea. Bloodthorne nodded.

"Contracts signed in blood are always more valid than those in ink," he told her. "Blood quills are banned for wizards to use." He grinned, showing all his pointy teeth. "But not so with goblins."

Hermione felt slightly dizzy.

"Thank you for all of your time," she told him, offering him a bow as she stood.

"The pleasure was mine," Bloodthorne assured her, eyes glittering. "Have a Happy Christmas."

"You too," Hermione said, as she turned to exit the room. She paused. "Oh! I almost forgot!"

"Forgot?"

Hermione withdrew a heavy bag from her robes.

"Please deposit this in my vault," she told him. "I know I don't have much in my vault right now. You can use this gold for loans immediately."

Bloodthorne raised an eyebrow, and then smirked.

"There is a way of doing these things, Hermione Granger," he told her.

He led her to a space at the counter outside the meeting room, cutting in front of many others waiting in line. Hermione watched as he did something with the galleons on a scale.

"There are 290 galleons here," he said finally.

Hermione nodded. "That's what I counted, too." She'd had to ask Professor Flitwick to cast a Feather-Light charm on the bag so she could carry it.

Bloodthorne's eyes gleamed. "I wonder what a young witch is doing, to earn so much gold so fast."

Hermione's mind flashed to the makeup and the photos Ernie was quietly selling.

"This and that," she told him sweetly.

Bloodthorne threw his head back and roared. Hermione shivered at the cackle.

"Have a pleasant day, Miss Hermione Granger," he told her, giving her an evil, pointy grin that seemed to indicate anything but a pleasant day. "I'm sure we will be keeping in touch."

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Illustration by the amazing Ivar Yves! Check out her work at https://www.instagram.com/IvarYves/ <3


	35. Christmas Morning

Hermione woke up early Christmas Morning, to the feeling of a new weight on her feet. She groped for her wand, only to abruptly realize she wasn't allowed to cast even a simple Lumos to illuminate her room. As she groped for her lamp in the dark, she remembered that she'd had her mother register the house as a magical household, and she could do as she damn well pleased.

"Lumos."

The room softly illuminated, Hermione peered over her feet. There was a pile of packages – one that hadn't been there the night before. Hermione stared at it, wondering. There was no way owls had gotten into her room to drop them at her feet. So… what had?

Maybe there was a Magical Christmas Gift Delivery Spell that Hermione has missed somewhere. Oh well. She'd sent all her gifts by owl, but she'd try to learn for next year.

Hermione moved them all to her desk and promptly returned to sleep.

* * *

When Hermione reawoke, it was to the sound of her father bellowing in the kitchen at the much more reasonable hour of nine. Hermione couldn't help the smile spreading onto her face at her father yelling at the frying pan as she dressed, and it was with a happy fondness for her parents and a certain excitement for Christmas that she descended the stairs, mysterious gifts clutched in her arms.

"Happy Christmas, dear!"

Hermione barely had time to drop her gifts onto the couch before she was swept up in a hug.

"Happy Christmas, Mum."

"Happy Christmas, Hermione!" her father called from the kitchen, where he was attempting to make a traditional Christmas breakfast. Hermione laughed.

"Happy Christmas, Dad."

Hermione put her gifts under the tree and circled it, paying attention to the sizes and shapes of the boxes. She'd gotten more than she'd expected. Then again, she'd sent more than she probably needed to, not wanting to offend anyone. It made sense if the others did so too.

After a Christmas breakfast of French toast (eventually) and Monkey Bread, the Granger family settled happily around the Christmas tree with mugs of hot chocolate and began opening gifts.

Her parents had been wonderful. Hermione had received several books, as well as a book token to get five more that she wanted. They'd also gotten her some new clothes, as well as robes – nice, casual robes that she could wear on the weekends or after classes, instead of wearing her uniform all the time. She especially liked the fitted, emerald green ones they'd gotten her – there were hidden pockets sewn into it all over the place, and they had a bit of a dramatic flow when she walked. She felt like a medieval princess wearing them, and she was excited to be able to put bluebell flames in all those pockets to keep her warm.

Hermione had received a box of sugar quills from Harry, which amused her – she'd sent him chocolate frogs herself. From Neville, she'd received a set of real raven quills, which were considerably nicer than the ones she usually wrote with. It was just borderline of a bit much for a gift for a friend, but it was incredibly thoughtful. Hermione was glad she'd put thought into Neville's gift – she'd sent him a small Muggle planter of plants he could grow in his dorm room.

Ron hadn't sent her anything. Hermione smirked to herself and wondered if he'd feel ashamed of that fact after opening her gift. She'd sent him a classic Chudley Cannons photobook from the 70s that she'd found in a second-hand bookstore. She knew he wouldn't be able to resist it, and the fact it was so thoughtful would shame him all the more.

Hermione had sent all her dormmates Muggle makeup. She'd send Tracy and Millie actual nice palettes of eyeshadows that had run her 20 pounds each. Daphne had gotten a smaller palette, and Pansy got an extra stick of mascara. That'd been all Hermione was willing to do for Pansy; despite the truce over the Foe declaration, Pansy was still a snob.

Tracey and Millie seemed to have discussed what to get her – Millie sent her a new homework planner for the new year, and Tracey sent her a set of beautiful colored inks. Hermione loved the gift; she could color-code now to her heart's content. Daphne sent her an empty diary, which was nice, and Pansy sent her a set of gobstones, which had Hermione's eyes narrowing. Gobstones were found in every wizarding household, and to send a set as a gift was to imply that the receiver clearly didn't have one already, as they didn't belong to a true wizarding household.

Regardless of the fact that Hermione didn't own a set of gobstones, she knew that she'd been slighted.

The gifts from the guys of her dorm were the most unexpected. Hermione had sent Crabbe and Goyle cauldron cakes – impersonal, but still enjoyable. Crabbe and Goyle had each sent her a box of chocolates, but from the look of it, they were from some fancy chocolatier Hermione had never heard of. They were preassembled selections, but Hermione was sure her family would enjoy them over Christmas. She hadn't expected a gift from either of them, but she supposed that quietly tutoring them during Charms had given them a feeling of obligation.

She laughed when she got to Theo's present – The Art of Potions. It was the exact same book she'd sent to him as a gift after it had piqued her interest in Flourish and Blotts. She wondered if Theo was looking at his own gift from her at this exact moment with wry amusement, or if the coincidence had actually provoked a laugh from her austere classmate.

Blaise had sent her a chess set. It was a very nice chess set, and it seemed to be able to shrink and grow, but Hermione wasn't sure why he'd sent one to her. They'd taken up flirting over checkers in the evenings instead – they'd both agreed she was hopeless at chess. A chess set seemed almost like an insult, only it was nice. Resolving that there was some ulterior meaning behind the gift she had yet to discover, she set the matter aside.

Hermione had sent Blaise a Go set as a gift – it was a very strategic game that took years to master, and she thought it'd be fun for them to learn together. She felt a mild satisfaction that they'd both sent each other games – she's at least gotten that gift-giving level right.

She left the gift from Draco as the last from the Slytherins.

Truthfully, Hermione hadn't known what to get Draco for Christmas. They weren't friends, and they barely spoke, but Draco was the undeniable Prince of Slytherin, and she felt duty-bound to give him a gift, almost as if she owed him fealty. None of the suggestions in her book had helped – what do you get a person who can buy anything they want? – so she had set out to give him something he didn't have yet, regardless of any weird implications.

She'd sent him beautiful glass dragon she'd gotten from a Muggle collectibles store. It had been pricey, but it was worth it – the dragon was a subtle blue color, and looked as if it were frozen in time, about to blow fire at anyone who approached it. She'd enchanted it to sparkle in the light more than glass usually did. She'd wanted to enchant it to blow bluebell flames, but she'd found the magic beyond her. Layering spells like that was advanced.

She hadn't expected a gift from Draco. Draco Malfoy was too high up to just dole out gifts; the Malfoys probably received loads of gifts from people hoping to curry favor with them, and probably only sent a scarce few out to their most loyal allies. The fact that Draco had sent her a gift… Hermione didn't really know what to think about it. Was it because she was the best in their class, and he didn't want her as a foe?

"Hermione?" her mother said gently. "Aren't you going to open it?"

Carefully, Hermione undid the wrapping, setting the gorgeous bow aside for later reuse. She was left with a large velvet-covered box in her hands. Her heart thudding oddly hard in her chest, she opened it.

A strange sight greeted her. The box was clearly a jewelry box – there was a place for a necklace, as well as what Hermione presumed would be a matching set of earrings. However, there wasn't jewelry in the box. Instead, there was a cashmere scarf in Slytherin colors that came out of the box like a magician's scarves coming from his sleeve, and a finely-wrought pin of the Slytherin crest.

"Hermione?" her dad prodded. "Who is that from?"

Hermione answered him absently, staring at the box. There was a clear meaning here, if only she could grasp it. To send such things in an empty jewelry box… was this a subtle slight? Implying she'd never be good enough to receive jewelry from a guy? Or did this hold some other meaning? Giving someone clothes was almost a pre-courting gift, she'd gathered, though giving gifts that had to do with school pride was mostly a generic present and an okay area. Draco had given her a scarf that clearly hadn't come from the uniform store, and the pin… she'd never seen pins like this before. Where had it come from?

Her mother had pins like this, that she pinned to her collar sometimes when she dressed up. She kept them in her jewelry box.

So… he'd given her clothing and jewelry, really, only he hadn't, not in a way that mattered. What did that mean?

Her head starting to hurt, Hermione set the box aside to ponder more later.

There were only a few left. Ernie had sent her a book on modeling and posing, which made Hermione laugh. She'd sent him a book on Muggle photography techniques herself as a playful taunt. She hadn't expected a gift at all, let alone one like this. Ernie had probably opened her gift up early and sent back a retort.

The next was a larger box from Anthony Goldstein. Hermione shook it lightly, hearing no noise, and opened it.

Inside was a thick woolen cape, dyed a beautiful deep blue. It was folded elegantly, resting on teal and silver tissue paper, and the tag proclaimed it was from Twilfitt and Tattings. On top of it was a decorated invitation to his family's annual Christmas party, to be held in two days' time.

"Oooh," her mother said appreciatively. "That's stunning. Who sent you that?"

"A boy at school," Hermione admitted. "I think he likes me."

Her dad laughed. "Hermione, he definitely fancies you. A boy doesn't send a girl something like that for Christmas if they're just friends."

Hermione took out the cape and tried it on, swirling around. It was warm, and the fabric felt soft, especially for a wool. It was very, very nice.

"It looks great," her mother said decisively. "You must be sure to tell him thank you."

"I will," Hermione said automatically. She paused. "He invited me to his family's holiday party as well."

Her parents exchanged a look, putting on carefully-neutral expressions.

"And what do you think of that, Hermione?" her father asked.

"I think it's a bit much," Hermione admitted. "Him sending me a gift like this is already a pretty dramatic statement in the wizarding world. Going to meet his family would be a lot."

Her mother nodded approvingly.

"It's good that we're having our own private family party that night then, isn't it?" she said, her eyes sparkling. "It gives you the perfect excuse to decline his kind invitation."

"We are?" her dad asked. Her mother shot her father a look and kicked him lightly. Hermione giggled. "Right! Right." Her father cleared his throat. "Yes. Of course. Of course we are."

Hermione giggled as her mother began trying to tickle her father. Turning back to the tree, Hermione ripped open the last present. It turned out to be an envelope, which she ripped open as well. A coin fell from the envelope, and Hermione rapidly scanned the letter.

_Miss Granger,_

_This coin is a Portkey. If you are holding onto it at 11pm the night of December 31st, it will bring you to an outside location where I will be standing. Should you arrive at such place, you might learn something you have been wanting to._

_You may assure your parents (if you tell them) that you will be returned by 2am._

_Yours,_

_Professor Snape_

Hermione clutched the letter to her chest and pocketed the coin, her smile threatening to break her face.


	36. New Year's Eve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Illustration by the amazing Ivar Yves! Check out her work at https://www.instagram.com/IvarYves/ <3

Hermione begged off early on New Year's Eve, claiming a headache from too much eggnog. Her parents had been mildly concerned, but they let her retire early. Hermione knew they were likely to fall asleep on the couch just after 10pm themselves, so she wasn't worried about them noticing she was gone.

At quarter to 11, Hermione carefully dressed herself. She put on her new casual robes, stashing bluebell flames all over in the pockets, and put on her coat and new cape as well. She suspected learning to fly would be done outside, and it was freezing out.

She held herself perfectly still, wand in one hand, the coin in the other, and waited, mentally counting the down the last five minutes in her head.

At exactly 11 o'clock, there was a powerful jerk behind her navel, and Hermione was abruptly spinning through the air, spiraling through multicolored nothingness, until she abruptly crashed into the ground. Her stomach roiled, and Hermione fought to keep her supper down.

"Happy Christmas, Miss Granger."

Hermione looked up to see Professor Snape standing there, looking at her expectantly, a hand extended. Hermione smiled shakily and took his hand, pulling herself up.

"Happy Christmas, Professor."

Now that she was standing, Hermione shivered in the cold. They were outside, and they were on top of a cliff, it seemed. She could hear waves crashing below them, and the grass beneath her feet blew in the chilly winds.

Abruptly, there was a ball of light floating above them, illuminating the area in faint white light, but casting oddly-shaped shadows. Snape's eyes seemed to glow in the dark, and Hermione shivered.

"Flying, Miss Granger, is a very difficult practice," he told her quietly. "It is also not widely known. As far as I know, there is only one way that has been discovered, and it was discovered by the Dark Lord."

Hermione bit her lip. "Is it dark magic?"

Snape scoffed. "No." He paused. "But… it is _grey,_ one might say."

Hermione nodded slowly. She'd read about "grey" magic, the raw, elemental magic that did not have strict purpose. Using it was very hard, and generally, only Dark wizards and witches used it. It was the kind of power that fueled spells like _Fiendfyre_ , which summoned a cursed fire as if from Hell.

She shivered. She'd never done grey magic before.

"We are going to summon an air elemental," Snape told her. "Summoning is not something widely done anymore, and it is not to be spoken of to anyone else. Do you understand?"

"Very rare, not to be spoken of. Got it," Hermione said, nodding. "Summoning was covered in the book you loaned me. People consider it largely dark nowadays, don't they?"

Snape scowled. "Close-minded morons. Summoning isn't bad, just as it isn't good. It just is. It depends what you do with it, what your purpose is, that makes it light or dark. Come here."

He gestured, and Hermione walked to him, seeing that he'd scratched in a rough circle in the ground.

"We will summon an air elemental," he told her. "We will then bind it to you. This will give you the potential to fly. Your will will have to subdue and control the air spirit. This will give you mastery over the air."

" _Bind_ it to me?" Hermione's eyes went wide. "I- I don't want to- Professor, I don't want to _kill_ anything-!"

"An elemental, Miss Granger, is not _alive_ ," he told her, sprinkling something white and glowing around the circle. "It is a nature spirit. It alive in the same way a tree is alive, or a flower, or the grass. There is a spirit of sorts in it, but not a _soul_. There is no consciousness." Snape dusted his hands off, returning to her. "I understand the sentiment behind your objection – you feel as if you will kill something, doing this." He paused, and his eyes glinted in the darkness. "…And yet, you pick flowers without thought, do you not?"

Hermione felt uneasy. "But… Professor, this feels different…"

"Hermione." Snape gave her a sharp look. "Do you trust me?"

That was an easy one. "Yes, sir," she answered truthfully.

"Then trust me when I sat that this is not evil. You will not even 'kill' the air elemental. You are binding its power and nature to your own. It will 'live' and grow alongside you."

Hermione gnawed on her lip. "…I have to subdue it?"

"Even a spirit has a will, Hermione," he told her. "It is not strong, compared to a person, but it exists, though without aim, without consciousness. Once you subdue it, it will assimilate to your power."

Hermione nodded. "I understand."

Snape gave her a pleased look, and began to explain how the ritual would work.

The ritual was incredibly simple, when it came down to it. There were moonstones to encourage the air elemental to emerge, and doing it at the moment of the New Year would help, when hopes and dreams were the freest, and people did not feel as tied down to the earth and reality.

Hermione moved to stand at the top point of the triangle within the circle. Snape straddled the triangle to stand on the two other points. The moonstone was in the center of the triangle. Just before midnight, Snape closed his eyes and began to chant, drawing patterns through the air with his hands.

Hermione did her best to stand still and remain firm and determined. Snape had assured her that he would do the actual summoning, but that the battle for control would be up to her and her alone.

He didn't say what would happen if the air elemental's spirit managed to be stronger and took over her own.

Gradually, a light began to manifest in the middle of the triangle. Hermione recognized it as a will-o'-the-wisp. Snape began chanting louder and louder, and abruptly, there was a crack of lightning across the sky, and the light disappeared – into _her_.

_AAAAAAAHHHHHHhhhhhhhh!_

There was immediate, skull-crushing _pain_ , agonizing, and Hermione clutched her head as the screaming in her head went on and on. She could _feel_ the will-o'-the-wisp inside of her, and it wanted _out_. There was a strong foreign urge to jump off the cliff, to dance along the water's top, to _not_ stay here, to go out and _dance_. It was overwhelming, this presence without any words, and it was _demanding_ things of her, things that Hermione didn't want to do.

Hermione could feel wind rushing in her ears, and she felt like she was spinning around in a vortex. Her eyes were clamped closed, the wind tearing tears from them, and she grit her teeth hard, the physical pain grounding her.

_I – am – **Hermione**._

Slowly, _slowly_ , she could feel herself forcing the spirit back. She was a _person_ , and she had a body, and she was standing _right there_ , and Professor Snape had faith in her. She was a witch, and she was not going to give in to some stupid glowing ball, and she would make the stupid glowing ball go _right there_ and then–

Abruptly, Hermione took in a huge breath of air, her eyes snapping open, and she nearly fell backward, but Snape was there to catch her and keep her upright.

"Well _done_ , Miss Granger." Snape's voice was soft, but there was an undercurrent of pride in his tone. "Breathe, now. Just breathe."

Hermione continued gasping for air, her head dizzy. She got the sense that she'd been hyperventilating when she was fighting against the air elemental – her chest and throat were heaving and rattling around in weird ways. She forced herself to calm down, taking slow, deep breaths, and her lungs relaxed.

"You were fighting that spirit for a long time, Miss Granger," Snape told her. "I was prepared to exorcise it from you the second it dominated you, but you did well."

Hermione looked up at his sideways. "Exorcise it?"

"Would you have preferred a mindless spirit have control of your body?" Snape smirked at her. "I didn't expect you to succeed. I expected it would take at least two more tries for you to have the strength of will to dominate it."

"I had more than one chance?" Hermione felt a flash of indignation, and Snape gave her an oily smile.

"If you knew you could try again, would you have fought as hard as you did?"

The anger faded as Hermione grudgingly acknowledged his point.

"So… it's inside of me, now?" Hermione asked, looking down at herself.

"It's _part_ of you," Snape corrected. "Reach down to your power. You should be able to feel it."

Reach down to her power?

Hermione bit her lip, closed her eyes, and concentrated. She tried to follow the feeling she felt in her arms just before levitating something, tracing it back through her arms until she felt _something_.

Her power felt like a liquid, almost, but like a large cauldron of energy, of just unbound potential. Hermione felt overwhelmed for a moment, just finding this part of herself. She carefully started to explore it, only to feel light, airy bits flowing around inside of it with her own energy. Her eyes snapped open and met Professor Snape's.

"I- I can feel it," she told him. Her eyes widened. "I can feel it!"

"It is this power, Miss Granger," Snape said, with a small smile, "that you must draw on in order to fly."

Hermione frowned. "How?"

"The air elemental inside of you already knows how to fly," Snape told her. "Seize hold of that part of yourself. It should be able to guide you. Then, it's a matter of mixing your own power to fuel the flight with the direction of the air elemental."

Hermione bit her lip and tried. She reached out internally for the new part of her, the airy part of her, and was surprised to feel it immediately rise to her command. Her unexpressed desire to fly was immediately seized upon, and she could feel herself lift to her tip-toes without really realizing it. Carefully, Hermione fed her power to the air elemental inside of her to help get her off the ground.

Immediately, it was too much – she'd lurched into the air maybe a foot, and crashed back down to the ground a moment later. Snape smirked at her and helped her to her feet, eyes gleaming.

"You have more potential than I thought," he told her. "Practice this where no one can see. And remember-"

"Tell no one," Hermione said, nodding. "I won't."

"There will be _dire_ consequences if you do."

Hermione bit her lip, before throwing her arms around Snape in an impromptu hug. Snape stumbled backward, before awkwardly patting her head.

"Thank you _so much_ , Professor!" Hermione told him. "This is… I'll figure it out! I'll make you proud – really, I will!"

Snape's expression softened, and he patted her head again, gently.

"Miss Granger, you are already single-handedly assuring that Slytherin will win the House Cup with all the points you earn, and you are doing so in the face of immense prejudice and discrimination. You are at the top of your class in every subject. You are more powerful than any first-year has a right to be, and you have just achieved something that most people will never be able to do."

He tipped her chin up to look at him, and his eyes met hers.

"Hermione," he said quietly, "I am already proud of you."

Her parents had always told her that they were proud of her. They had always been very supportive. A _teacher_ , though – her teachers had always tolerated her questions and grudgingly helped her in her advanced studies. It was something new to have a _teacher_ tell her they were proud of her – especially her Head of House, who she respected so highly (and feared just a little).

Hermione felt her eyes start to swim, to her mortification, with the wave of strong emotion that had come at his words. She blinked rapidly, determined to make the tears go away.

"Thank you, sir," she said, sniffing slightly as she stepped back. She smiled up at him. "This has been the greatest Christmas present ever."

Snape scoffed at that. "I doubt it. I see your new cape," he said eyeing her sideways. "You'll cause drama, showing up with that in the new semester."

Hermione grinned and flounced with it. "I know."

"Thank you for your gift, as well," he said. "It is more appreciated than you know."

Hermione had given him black Muggle sweaters to wear under his robes, as well as dark long johns. She'd explained about the chill of the dungeon in her note to him, and she knew he'd appreciate something practical, pureblood gift-giving rules be damned.

"Happy New Year, sir," she told him, smiling up at him as she withdrew the coin he'd given her.

He took the coin from her and tapped his wand to it, before handing it back.

"Happy New Year, Hermione," he returned, before surprising her by kissing her forehead. "Be careful."

A moment later, Hermione was sucked by her navel into a whirlwind storm once again, landing back in her room a minute later, unsteady on her feet. This time, she didn't feel as sick, and she hadn't crashed to the ground, either.

As Hermione undressed for bed, she gave her tummy a look in the mirror. She wondered if the air elemental she'd joined with had something to do with it.

Deep inside of her, she could feel something glow.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Illustration by the amazing Ivar Yves! Check out her work at https://www.instagram.com/IvarYves/ <3


	37. Back to School

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Illustration by the amazing Ivar Yves! Check out her work at https://www.instagram.com/IvarYves/ <3

"Hermione!"

Hermione was greeted upon her return to King's Cross by Neville hurrying towards her, beaming. Hermione returned his smile.

"Neville. Did you have a happy Christmas?" she asked.

"Look!"

He thrust a small box toward her, which held three small plants. He looked at her for approval, grinning.

"I'm growing them," he told her proudly. "They're doing well, even in the winter, and I'm excited to see what will happen to them, being around so much magic now! I read some about them – the aloe one is supposed to be what Muggles use to cure burns. I wonder if it'll be even better with magic infused in it, but we'll have to see."

She followed him onto the train as he told her more about his plants. To her surprise, they were joined by Daphne and Blaise, just as the train started to lurch away. Neville's eyes went wide, and Hermione hid her laugh. Daphne was all done up, hair curled and pinned with makeup and all, and she looked _very_ pretty. Daphne was looking directly at Neville, a smile growing on her face.

"Hermione," Daphne purred. "You've never introduced me to your friend."

Hermione's eyes went wide. Daphne presuming that Hermione had the status to introduce a peer to another peer was quite the compliment, in pureblood society. Though caught off-guard, Hermione smoothly stood, mentally thanking the snooty etiquette guide she had read.

"Neville, may I present my dear friend Miss Daphne Greengrass?" Hermione said, gesturing. "Daphne, this is Neville Longbottom."

"A pleasure," Daphne said, fluttering her eyelashes at Neville.

Neville, to his credit, managed to kiss the back of Daphne's hand, though he went red.

"The pleasure is mine, Miss Greengrass," he managed to get out, and Daphne beamed at him.

"Just Daphne is fine. What are you working on?"

Neville relaxed in the face of a new audience and began talking to Daphne animatedly about Herbology. Daphne seemed to be keeping up, and she kept asking questions, though she fluttered her eyelashes every time she did so. Rolling her eyes and smiling, Hermione sat down and turned to Blaise, who looked just as amused as she.

"He's Heir to a Noble House," Blaise said quietly, smirking. "I suspect Daphne got a lecture about doing her duties to her House over the break, and how she needs to start attracting favorable matches."

Hermione stifled a laugh. "I'm glad I avoided that one, then. I had a good Christmas, free of pressures like that. How was your holiday?"

"It was excellent." Blaise grinned at her. "Did you like your gift?"

"I… didn't understand it, to be honest," Hermione admitted. Blaise laughed.

"I suspected as much." His eyes gleamed. "Do you have it still?"

Obligingly, Hermione opened her trunk, making the compartment quite cramped for a moment while she searched through her things and withdrew it, quickly putting everything else away. She sat down with it on her lap.

"You go first," he told her.

Hermione rolled her eyes and moved a while pawn forward.

To her astonishment, a long moment later, one of the black pawns moved forward as well. Her eyes dashed up to meet his, and he grinned, withdrawing another chess board of his own.

"They're linked," he told her. "When you make a move on your board, it shows up on mine, and when I move on mine, it shows up on yours."

Hermione stared. She moved another pawn forward, and it moved on Blaise's. Blaise's returning capture was echoed on her own board, and Hermione couldn't suppress a noise of excitement.

"I got a shrinking charm applied to them," Blaise told her, "so you can keep this one small on your lap and play Weasley. If you echo the moves I make against you against him, it'll _look_ like you're playing him, but _I'll_ actually be playing him."

Hermione was grinning so hard her face hurt.

"I could hug you right now, Blaise," she told him, and he laughed.

"Save that for when we're in private," he told her, winking, and Hermione laughed. He put his chessboard away. "Now, anyway – explain to me the rules with this game with all the rocks?"

* * *

The evening of the return from Christmas break was before term officially started. Everyone had spent the afternoon settling back into their dorms and chatting about their Christmas gifts. The few people who had stayed at the school over the break were in their uniforms, but most of the students were out of uniform in casual robes, mostly black.

When a second-year boy ran inside, announcing that there was a snowball fight outside, and that the Slytherins needed help, the first years all ran from their common room to their dorms, hurrying to put on their cloaks and gloves. Hermione paused at her wardrobe, immediately seeing the opportunity, and as a smile spread across her face, she wondered just who had _started_ this intra-house snowball fight.

She was only a moment after the rest of the Slytherins out the door, and they immediately dove behind the scanty cover that a few third years had managed. It seemed like Gryffindor and Ravenclaw had been already fighting for a while, judging from their battlements, and that Hufflepuff and Slytherin had unexpectedly been drawn into the fight.

The Slytherin snow fort was awful – just a giant lump of snow attached to a tree trunk to duck behind. Did wizards not know how to have a proper snowball fight?

Hermione stood from her place, looking around, and began snapping out orders.

"Pansy, Goyle, start rolling a giant snowball like you're making a snowman. Daphne, Crabbe, do the same on the other side. And Tracey, Millie, make a third. Get them back here as quick as you can. Theo, can you make snowballs?

Theo grinned and set about making a stockpile of snowballs. Tracey, Millie, Daphne, Crabbe, and Goyle immediately obeyed her orders, starting to push snow around, and, with a scowl shot her way, even Pansy joined in, helping to keep Goyle's snow pile from getting too messy or not round. Hermione was surprised to see Pansy outside participating at all, actually. She supposed Pansy might have just been swept up in the excitement by the others.

Some of the third years caught on, seeing the idea behind Hermione's commands. One of the third years echoed her orders, and soon, there were several large snowballs around the original fortification. At Hermione's instruction, they were ordered next to each other, loose snow packed between them. Hermione took the next set and levitated them on top of the original set, stacking them fairly high, before giving the order to secure them with more snow and carve out merlons atop the snow, telling others to bring back yet _more_ giant snowballs to make the sides of the fort.

Having done that, Hermione slumped down against the snow embankment, dizzy. A third year came over, looking down at her, but he looked impressed.

"That was a _lot_ of snow you levitated," he said, crouching down. "Snow isn't light."

"I'm well aware," Hermione panted. "Hence, the exhaustion."

She gestured to herself, and the boy laughed.

"You're… what, a 2nd year?" Hermione shook her head, and the boy's eyes widened. "You're a 1st year? Nice. That's impressive magic."

"Do you know a spell to carve a brick pattern into the wall?" Hermione asked him, changing the topic. "The more intimidating our snow fort looks, the better."

The boy grinned and hauled her to her feet. Hermione slipped a little, before stabilizing.

"I don't, but I know who will," he told her. "I'm Adrian Pucey, by the way."

"Hermione Granger," she told him, and he nodded and ran away.

Hermione took a few deep breaths and analyzed the situation. The Slytherin fort was directly across from the Gryffindor fort, which seemed to be a very large heap of snow that they ducked behind. To their right was the Ravenclaw fort, which was a large wall of snow built between two trees. It left them vulnerable to attacks from the side but provided a fairly good defense from the front. The Hufflepuffs were a distance away on their left, and they didn't have much of a fort yet – they seemed to try to be expanding off a snowman that they were currently ducking behind. Most of them didn't seem to care and were laughing and hurling snowballs willy-nilly, which made Hermione grin.

Turning inward, Hermione tried to feel her power reserves to see if she'd exhausted herself. To her surprise, she hadn't used nearly as much power as she thought she had – either that, or it was regenerating quickly. She'd never checked to see if power came back quickly – she'd always just gone to sleep after draining herself.

The air elemental that was part of her was there too, dancing. Hermione could feel it playing in the power inside of her. She looked at the Gryffindors, who were launching a direct assault against the Slytherins, taking advantage of their preoccupation with defense, and an idea occurred. She hadn't had much luck with this spell yet (it was a 3rd year spell), but maybe this time…

She whipped her wand towards the snow in the middle of the field before them, between her and the Gryffindors. _"Ventus!"_

Immediately, the spell was different. Instead of a weak gust of wind, there was a sense of _glee_ running through her and escaping through her wand, and a gale of wind blew up, blowing the loose snow up in front of the Gryffindors' faces in a localized blizzard. The Gryffindors yelled and ran back, hiding behind their embankment or fleeing in the face of the snow, and Hermione laughed aloud, the thrill of the spell coursing through her.

Gradually she ended the spell, feeling for her magic as she did. The air elemental inside her was dancing with joy, and she could almost _feel_ it spinning her magic out of her into the charm. As she consciously pulled back her energy, as if lowering something she was levitating, the air elemental sent out less and less.

When the spell was finished, Hermione looked upon her work and burst out laughing. The Gryffindors were all snow-encrusted and looked like abominable snowmen. The Weasley twins let out a roar and immediately unleashed a torrent of snowballs at her, and she shrieked and ducked down behind the Slytherin snow castle, still laughing.

Blaise was laughing next to her, grinning as he quickly made more snowballs. It seemed that the Slytherin Chasers were the ones throwing them – they had the best aim of the group.

"That was incredible!" he told her. "I've never seen someone do that before!"

"That was impressive magic," Pucey told her, emerging from the side of the rapidly-growing fort. "I didn't think _Ventus_ could do that."

He grinned at her, and she grinned back, pleased, before remembering herself and standing up again, taking evaluation of the fort.

"We need taller walls on the sides," she directed Crabbe and Goyle, who were returning with more snowballs. "Stack them on top of each other and join them to the rest of the fort. Who's been shaving the sides?"

"Me." Draco Malfoy emerged from seemingly nowhere, catching Hermione off-guard.

"Ah – good. Let's get these side walls done as quick as we can. I've got an idea for solidifying it, but it'd be better if we have a solid three walls before we try it."

"Got it." Draco nodded at her and turned to do just that.

"Oi, Granger!"

Distracted, Hermione looked to the side. She ducked to dodge a snowball and stood again, only to see Anthony Goldstein standing at the side of the Ravenclaw encampment, grinning. Even from this distance, she could see the mischievous spark in his eyes.

Hermione smirked.

She knew what he was about.

"Goldstein," Hermione returned. She smirked widely. "Nice fort."

It was a lie. The Ravenclaws' wall was thicker now, with slits to throw through, but it was still just a wall.

Anthony grinned at the barb.

"Nice cape," he tossed back. "Give us a twirl?"

Laughing, Hermione twirled, her cape spinning out from her slightly.

"It's very warm," she said, smiling.

"I'd say wearing that's almost cheating," Anthony accused playfully, his voice loud enough to carry. "It's got an Impervius Charm woven into it. Can the snow even touch you?"

Hermione laughed. "If it can't, it's your fault!"

She threw a snowball at him, and Anthony laughed and ducked, and the fight was back on.

Hermione quickly ducked back behind the wall of snow that was quickly becoming a solid fortification as the Ravenclaws turned their assault toward the Slytherins. Her eyes scanned around for the oldest boys she could find. She settled for Adrian and his friend, who were carving out the top of the left side of the fort.

"I have an idea," she said. "We need to go outside the fort for it to work, but it'll be great if we can do it."

She quickly explained her thought. Adrian's smile grew, while his friend looked thoughtful.

"We'll need a guard to protect us while we do it," he said.

"Not a problem," Adrian said promptly. He turned. "Flint!"

A large boy bounded over, panting. He looked much older than most of the students playing.

"What?" he demanded.

"We need you to do a single-man assault with the snow outside the fort as we slowly go across the front and freeze it to solid ice," Adrian told him. "Do you think you can do that?"

Marcus gave him a look, before grinning. It was a frightening grin, with pointed teeth and a malicious-looking snaggletooth – a grin her parents would have had conniptions at.

"Let's do it," he said. "It's only snow."

It was with great delicacy that they began their mission, starting on the Hufflepuff side of the fort, where the smallest threat was present. The boy Hermione didn't know would cast a water spell, followed nearly immediately by Adrian casting a freezing spell, and the snow on the outside of the fort would freeze to ice. Hermione stood behind them, holding her cape up as a shield, while Marcus roared in front of them, loosing snowballs at anyone that targeted them.

They fell into a rhythm quickly, cast-freeze, cast-freeze. Hermione was pleased to see that the brick pattern Draco had set into the fort froze into it as well, making the fort even more impressive. It looked like an actual _fort._

The Gryffindor side was challenging, and Marcus never stopped hurling snowballs the entire time, calling for backup from the fort several times. They made it across, though, and finished up on the Ravenclaw side, where the Ravenclaws immediately realized what they were doing.

"Why bother?" Terry Boot yelled out to her, as Hermione was dusting herself off. "If you keep it made of snow, it only gets stronger as more snowballs hit it."

Hermione tossed her hair, though it was admittedly very damp at this point.

"Slytherins take pride in appearance," she told them with a smirk. "Did you think we'd be satisfied with anything less than a castle?"

With the fort complete, all the Slytherins were able to focus on making snowballs and throwing them. Some of the older students began jinxing theirs to turn to ice and hurled them at the others' forts, deliberately trying to crack and weaken them.

Hermione stood in the back, trying to catch her breath from all the excitement. She patted her flushed cheeks with her cold gloved hands, marveling that it was an odd experience to feel so cold and yet so hot at the very same time.

As she turned to return to the battle, she paused, her gaze catching Draco's.

He was staring at her, his face a mask of stone.

Hermione blinked, before turning, only to meet Blaise's considering gaze and Theo's intense one. As she glanced around, Pansy, Tracey, and Daphne were all casting her looks as well.

Hermione bit her lip and hid her discomfort, quickly returning to helping the others demolish the Gryffindor fort.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Illustration by the amazing Ivar Yves! Check out her work at https://www.instagram.com/IvarYves/ <3


	38. Dinner Gossip

After a shower, Hermione joined the other Slytherins at dinner, where there was a cheerful discussion of the snowball fight, the superiority of the Slytherin fort over the other Houses', and gifts people had gotten over Yule. The boys of the house were praising the ingenuity of freezing the fort to ice and shaping it like a castle, while the many of the girls were sniffing and talking about their presents instead.

The first years were discussing their gifts, having all been present for the snowball fight.

"I got small things from everyone, but nothing special," Tracey said with a sigh. "Anyone get anything… exciting?"

"Greg Goyle sent me a scarf," Millicent admitted. "I haven't decided whether not to wear it yet."

"That'd be a terrible slight if you didn't wear it at least _once_ ," Pansy said snidely.

Millie made a face. "I know."

"Cassius sent me a cloak," Daphne said smugly. "It's a beautiful emerald green. The note said it reminded him of my eyes."

The girls all murmured appreciatively, Tracey letting out a whistle.

"Cassius Warrington?" Tracey asked. "That good-looking guy in 3rd year?"

"Exactly."

" _I'm_ not surprised," Blaise Zabini cut in. "Christmas is the first chance to offer any gifts of intent. You're a catch, Greengrass – I'm surprised you didn't get _more_ gifts of courting intent."

Daphne colored prettily, while Pansy sneered.

"And did _you_ get any gifts of courting intent?" she snarked.

There was a collective "oooooo" at the jab, but Blaise just gave her a grin.

"If I had, it'd be more than you got, wouldn't it?" he smirked.

Pansy's face turned murderous, and Tracey quickly turned to Hermione.

"What about you?" Tracey said, a glint in her eye. "Anything _special?_ "

Hermione considered for a moment, somewhat uncomfortable.

"Oh! Ron didn't get me anything," Hermione finally said, smirking.

Tracey blinked. "And that's… _good_? That's a terrible slight." She looked uneasy. "Aren't you supposed to be his friend?"

"Oh, I got _him_ a gift – a really nice one, too," Hermione told her. "He'll look ungrateful and selfish, not giving me something when I gave him something so nice. It's a better gift than any lame present he would actually give me, believe me."

"I don't know how much Gryffindor keeps with formal gift-giving traditions, but that will shame him amongst those of us who know better," Daphne said. "Good. Downfall to Weasley."

She said it so casually, just 'downfall to Weasley', that Hermione had to struggle not to laugh.

"I got a full potions set," Theo said, offering Hermione a smirk. "A complete one, not a student kit. It's really nice."

Hermione's eyes lit. "With all the standard ingredients?"

"And then some." He grinned.

"More importantly, however, is Hermione's _other_ gift business," Daphne said, giving Hermione a sly grin. "I understand Anthony Goldstein sent you a cape?"

Hermione could sense the air at the table change. She was careful to keep her face carefree and easy, though she felt uncomfortable. Being the center of attention in _this_ way... she wasn't used to this.

"He did," she said. "He also sent an invitation to his family's formal Christmas party. It coincided with my own family's party, however, so I was forced to decline."

Daphne exchanged a look with Theo, and Theo whistled.

"Someone's moving fast," Theo commented, eyes wide. "We're in _first year_."

"Daphne got a cloak from Warrington," Hermione pointed out. "It's not like I'm the only one."

"Yes, but…" Theo trailed off, looking uneasy. "Daphne's… the Greengrass name is very well-known. It's practically expected she'd get gifts of intent before she'd debuted just as a way to curry favor with her house. It's not quite the same."

" _I_ certainly didn't get an invitation to his house, either," Daphne cut in.

"Goldstein's trying desperately to do anything that might elevate his house," Pansy said, adding herself back to the conversation. She wrinkled her nose. "They're fairly well regarded, but gold and a famous grandmother only gets you so far."

"That shows guts, to gamble on an unknown like you," Tracey said, grinning at Hermione. "He must really like you."

"Or it's a gesture to show that he's openly looking for matches," Pansy sniped. "He's one generation from being considered a pureblood again, if he marries _pure_. Hermione would… well…"

She trailed off, sniffing, and Hermione's eyes hardened.

"A New Blood is the purest type of pureblood there is, gifted by Magic itself," Hermione said, fighting to keep her voice even. "If you can't see that, you're an idiot. But you'll see – we'll all see whose magic wins out in the end."

She rose and swept over to the Gryffindor table, taking deep breaths. She left the Slytherins behind her, knowing some of them were watching her. She stored Pansy's remark away in her mind – she'd have to retaliate somehow. She couldn't just let the insult stand.

"Harry," she said, pasting a cheerful smile onto her face. "Happy Christmas! How was it for you?"

Harry smiled genuinely at her. "Hermione! Thanks for the frogs. I had a good Christmas, actually. Quite a few presents more than I expected, though."

Hermione laughed. "You've made quite a few friends, Harry. Surely it wasn't _that_ surprising."

"Maybe." Harry grinned at her, and Hermione smiled.

"Thanks for the Sugar Quills," she told him. "How was Christmas at the castle?"

Hermione was careful to stay focused on Harry, who was telling her all about the small Christmas dinner there had been, sitting with the teachers and pulling Christmas crackers. Out of her peripheral vision, she could see Ron getting steadily more and more red, looking deeper and deeper into his dinner and his cup. When Harry started telling her about the other gifts he'd gotten, Ron looked more and more uncomfortable.

"Ron," Neville said, looking at him. "What'd you get Hermione? I know Harry got her sugar quills. I saw that classic Cannons photobook she got you – it's really nice. What'd you give her?"

Hermione mentally thanked the stars for a friend like Neville Longbottom.

Ron muttered something unintelligible, sinking deeper into his dinner, and Neville gave him a confused look, before looking to Hermione. He nodded to Ron and shrugged, a confused expression on his face, and Hermine shrugged back at him. Neville rolled his eyes.

"What did he get you, Hermione?" Neville asked. "I'm hoping no one beat my raven quills."

Hermione laughed.

"The quills are wonderful," she said, smiling. "Thank you again for them."

Neville grinned.

"You're welcome," he said. "So… Ron?" he prompted. "What'd he give you?"

Ron sank further into his chair, and Hermione allowed an uncomfortable expression to come onto her face as she looked away, silently demurring. An incredulous expression came across Neville's face, and a shocked one on Harry's.

"He… he didn't give you anything?" Neville said. His tone was quiet, almost horrified.

Hermione visibly bit her lip and looked away.

"Ron!" Harry chastised. "You didn't give Hermione anything? Not even one of your mom's sweaters?"

" _Definitely_ _not_ a sweater," Ron mumbled into his food, glaring around at the table.

"You didn't give Hermione a gift for Yule?" Neville said sharply. "You rebuffed her in that way? After all she's done for you?"

Ron looked deeply uncomfortable.

"It's just a present," he muttered. "I didn't know what to get a girl."

"Did you know what to get a _friend?_ " Neville demanded. He sounded angry, and Hermione was taken aback by his ire. "You just decided instead of asking for help, that you would get her _nothing?_ "

Harry was looking somewhat taken aback by this turn of events as well – Neville was usually a quiet and friendly person. It was almost frightening to see him so angry. Seamus and Dean were listening in now too, as were the Weasley twins.

"I can't believe you just slighted her like that," Neville said, shaking his head. "And she went to the trouble to give you something so nice-! And you gave her nothing."

"It's not like Hermione cares about slighting and gift rules," Ron retorted. "It's not such a big deal that you're making it."

"Not a big deal-? Ron, she's in _Slytherin._ She's a _New Blood_ , which is the most pure of purebloods _ever_. Of _course_ she follows the guidelines of gift-giving!"

Neville looked really angry now, and Hermione felt uncomfortable. She had figured she'd need to pretend to be uncomfortable and hurt by Ron's rebuff; it'd never occurred to her that someone else might be angry on her behalf.

"I can't believe you," Neville said angrily. He slammed his hands on the table, making Ron jump, and he stood up. He came over to Hermione, bowed slightly, and extended his arm to her.

"If I might have the privilege of escorting you back to your common room, Miss Granger?" he asked, his back ramrod straight.

Hermione could practically feel people's stares on her back.

Hermione recognized what he was doing – he was solidifying his support of her being a woman of quality or of pure blood, a woman to be respected, in the face of Ron's obvious insult. Even recognizing his gesture, though, it felt _odd_ , but kind of nice, in a way.

Hermione nodded silently and got to her feet, taking Neville's arm.

They swept from the hall with their heads held high. Hermione was quietly impressed with Neville's posture and confidence. She'd never seen him act in such a noble way before.

After the doors to the Great Hall closed behind them, Neville slumped, turning to Hermione with anxious eyes.

"I am so, _so_ sorry for Ron, Hermione!" Neville said, wringing his hands. "I don't- Ron's an idiot. He still thinks of you as a Muggle-born, and doesn't think things through, and he probably legitimately didn't think that you were expecting the gift of a friend from him. I am so, _so_ sorry. But please know that- Harry and I, we respect you and value you, and Ron- Ron's just an idiot, Hermione, and he probably still considers you a friend-"

"Neville," Hermione said gently, interrupting. "It's okay."

Neville looked up at her. "It is?"

"It is," Hermione confirmed. "Ron's behavior is no reflection on you or Harry. I am happy to call you friends. Ron's folly is his own."

Neville nodded slowly, straightening his back, before starting down the corridor with her once more. It was an odd walk; Neville was clearly trying to lead her, but he didn't know where he was going. Hermione had to nudge him and crowd his feet with her own to guide him in the direction of the correct dungeon.

"I don't know what his issue is," Neville confessed, looking at his feet. "I mean… it's not that Muggle-borns aren't as powerful as purebloods, or anything like that. I'm no blood purist. But you're in the top of the class, and crazy powerful. If you say it's because you've been touched by Magic, I mean, it makes _sense…_ "

Hermione had the odd feeling of realizing that Neville _believed_ her. He _believed_ she was New Blood, that she had been directly touched by Magic. Hermione didn't remember ever telling Neville that, so he would have had to have heard the rumor on the grapevine from someone else, but he _believed_ it, and he was treating her how a pureblood princess would be treated in a formal situation because of it.

It felt… different.

Hermione bit her lip. She often thought back to meeting the blonde girl, Luna, in the bookstore, when she uttered her prophecy. She thought back to the Sorting Hat, and what it had whispered into her mind. Hermione didn't even know if New Blood was actually a _thing_. It felt like Hermione was making it up and defining it as she went along, and it was disconcerting to realize that someone _believed_ what so often felt like lies.

"It's okay, Neville," Hermione said gently. She stopped turning to him. "Thank you for walking me back to the common room."

Neville blinked and looked around. They were in an empty dungeon hallway. Hermione gave him a patient look as he realized that the Slytherin common room entrance must be hidden, and he hurriedly bobbed her a short bow.

"Ah- yes. Have a good evening, Hermione," he said.

"The same to you," Hermione said, nodding. "Thank you for saving me in there."

Neville puffed up at her thanks, and he looked proud as he strode back out of the hallway.

Hermione waited until he was firmly out of sight before going deeper into the dungeons, taking two more turns, and quietly murmuring the password to the common room and going in. The Ravenclaws might not mind visitors, and everyone knew that the Gryffindor House was behind the portrait of the Fat Lady on the 7th floor, but the Slytherins weren't about to advertise where they resided – especially not with the vitriol against them.

Hermione was surprised to see Draco inside, standing in the middle of an empty common room.

"Draco," she said, startled. "I thought you were at dinner."

Draco's eyes met hers. The silver seemed like liquid.

"Goldstein gave you a cape," he said.

Hermione froze. Understanding flooded Hermione's mind, and she nodded, careful not to betray anything.

"He did," she said steadily.

His gaze bore into hers.

"You wore it," he said. "In public."

"It was a gift of favor," Hermione said carefully. "To rebuff such a gift without cause would be an insult to his family and earn me a foe. I have no reason to quarrel with the Goldstein family, so I showed my gratitude."

Draco considered this, nodding slowly.

"And you wore it as soon as you could, so people would see," he said, watching her. "Getting the acknowledgement out of the way."

Hermione didn't say anything while Draco thought. His eyes abruptly snapped back to hers, sharpening.

"You're wearing your scarf," he said. "And the pin."

Hermione shifted uncomfortably. She _was_ wearing them. The scarf was incredibly soft, and it helped keep her neck and torso warm in the cold of the dungeons. She'd worn it over her dress like a wrap or stole, and it was nice to have. Most of her classmates had similar scarves (though not made of cashmere), so no one had commented.

The pin was harder to excuse. She… she had just _wanted_ to, really. It was so pretty, and why not? Why shouldn't she wear such a pin?

"I am," Hermione said finally. She looked up at him. "And?"

Draco's eyes seemed molten.

"The dragon you gave me is exquisite," he said, abruptly changing the subject. "Where did you get it?"

Hermione relaxed slightly, smiling.

"I can't tell you that, now, can I?" she said. "Then you'd be able to find the store and get whatever you wanted from it, and I'd have nothing left to send you as gifts."

Draco's lips twitched, and he smirked.

"I _have_ been told I am hard to buy for," he drawled, and Hermione laughed.

"I'm glad you like it," she said, impish. "I tried hard to find the perfect thing."

Draco looked surprised. "You did?"

"Well, of course," she said, shrugging. "I couldn't just get you _anything._ It had to be… _special,_ somehow."

Draco took a half-step closer to her. His eyes met hers again, and Hermione swallowed.

"Why?" he murmured. "Why did mine have to be special?"

His voice was lower, and there was something breathier about it. Hermione shivered.

"I don't know," she challenged him, tilting up her chin. "Why was mine in an empty jewelry box?"

Draco reared back, his eyes ablaze. He looked angry for a moment, before grinding his teeth and calming down.

"You know why," he grit out.

"I don't," Hermione said flatly. "To send an empty jewelry box could mean you don't think I'm worthy of ever receiving such things, with the House regalia a cruel jeer to point out where else I don't belong."

Draco looked struck, then upset.

"You're not that… you _know_ that isn't it, Hermione," he said. "You _know_ that I…"

He looked like he was doing his best to hide his emotions. Hermione swallowed her own.

"Or…" she said carefully.

"Or?" he prompted, a ghost of hope on his face.

"Or, it could mean you _wanted_ to send jewelry, but did not for some reason," she said. "Your gifts… though perfectly acceptable for acquaintances, they're nicer than the standard uniform wear, and…" She swallowed again.

"And?"

"And they're clothing and jewelry, of sorts," she said carefully. She looked up at him. "Clothing and jewelry that I could wear, and no one would know it was a favor, if it was."

Draco's eyes darkened.

"Will you wear it, Hermione?"

"Of course," Hermione said immediately. "The scarf is incredibly soft and warm, and I really like it."

Draco rolled his eyes, a faint smirk on his lips.

"Always the practical one," he murmured. "And the pin…?"

Hermione hesitated. The pin was undeniably special, and something no one else had. And, being that finely wrought, it _had_ to count as jewelry, even if it was not.

"Perhaps," Hermione murmured back, biting her lip. "Perhaps I will."

Draco's face slowly softened, relaxing in its intensity. He gave her a smile, a real, brilliant smile, and Hermione was caught off-guard by how happy and how handsome he looked in that moment.

"Good," he said. "Good…"

He trailed off, looking like he was going to say something more, but the common room door opened, the rest of their house spilling in after dinner.

The babble of other students pushed them apart and separated them, and Hermione let herself be carried away from him. Draco's eyes were still fixed on hers, and Hermione wasn't quite sure how that made her feel.

"Hermione!"

Hermione turned to see Blaise grinning at her.

"You want to test out those chess boards?" he asked her. "After that scene tonight, I figure you'll want to cream Weasley as soon as you can."

With a last glance back at Draco, Hermione turned to Blaise and nodded, moving toward the chairs and small table by the entrance that they usually claimed. He smirked.

"That was quite the scene back there," he told her. "You should have seen it. The one Gryffindor girl, Lavender Brown, she just about read Weasley the riot act. He'll be ostracized within his house for a while, now, even with all the half-bloods and whatnot not knowing the gift-giving traditions."

"Good," Hermione said. She sniffed. "He deserves it."

"He does. Foe to House Slytherin, and all that," Blaise said casually, shooting her a grin. He withdrew his tiny chess set from a pocket and enlarged it, and Hermione pulled hers from a pocket within her cloak. "Ready to lose?"

"I suppose," Hermione sighed. She smirked. "Though, hopefully for the last time, now."

Blaise grinned, and they set about playing an odd game of chess, Hermione doing her best to hide her moves on the small chess set on her lap, while Blaise played on his. It was odd and felt weird, but it was definitely _working_ – the sets stayed connected, even when small.

"So when do you want to do this?" Blaise said, moving his king. "It'll have to be a night when we're both free."

"Soon," Hermione said, picturing the giant chessboard that lay deep beneath the school. "As soon as we can."


	39. The Obstacle Course

With Blaise helping her, Hermione knew she couldn't return to her usual habit of attempting the 3rd floor corridor during Quidditch – it would be immediately apparent she was up to something that wasn't beating Ron in chess. She had to choose an evening when she didn't think the teachers would be paying much attention to her.

Hermione picked her day with care. Attempting the obstacle course had begun feeling like running the gauntlet somewhere along the way.

She chose a Tuesday night. First year Slytherins had Astronomy that night, so if the teachers saw her lurking around, they'd be more apt to excuse her, though she'd still have to avoid Filch. With a bit of help from Neville, she'd procured catnip and dropped it on the first floor, near the stairs to the kitchens. Hopefully, that would keep Mrs. Norris (and Filch) occupied for a while, but she'd need to be careful anyway.

She was lucky – no one was around, and she slipped once again into the forbidden 3rd floor corridor, immediately activating the music wand. Fluffy began to slump, and stark horror hit Hermione's mind.

He was directly over the trap door.

Options flew across her mind. She could try to levitate him off the trap door – she could try again later – she could stop the wand –

She didn't have much time. Holding her wand in her right hand, and taking the music wand in her left, she whispered a word.

Slowly, the music faded into silence, echoing about in the large chamber.

Hermione stood still at the far side of the chamber, watching.

Fluffy sniffed and shook all three heads, as if clearing them, before sniffing deeply, turning to face her, and beginning to growl.

Shivers raced up Hermione's spine, and she crouched low to the ground.

With a bark, Fluffy leapt at her, covering the distance of the room in one bound. Hermione screamed and threw herself to the left, narrowly dodging one of the heads. The end of her robes got caught in his mouth and tore, and Hermione frantically activated the music wand as she ran to the other side of the room.

Almost immediately, there was a soft whine, and Hermione turned, ready, to see the beast slowly slumping to the ground once again. When there was the soft 'thump' of his body hitting the floor, Hermione finally relaxed, before angrily stalking over and snatching the piece of fabric from her robes from his mouth.

"Stupid dog," she muttered, pocketing it as she opened the trap door.

Angry, Hermione looked down into the darkness. She really didn't feel like using her rope this time, though she'd brought it. It just took so long, and the Devil's Snare was enough to cushion her at the bottom, and so long as she kept her wand firmly in her hand, she'd be fine.

Unless they had changed the obstacle…

Hermione snorted. If they had started changing obstacles now, the entire challenge would be monumentally unfair.

Chalking it up to being around Harry and his cheerful impulsivity too much, she leapt into the darkness, unafraid.

The fall and landing on the Devil's Snare wasn't nearly as bad as she'd thought, and Hermione managed to burn her way through and fall to the ground with a satisfactory crash quickly, though she was wincing. She'd probably see a bruise on her leg the next day for that one.

Picking Flitwick's lock went quicker this time, now that she'd had a bit of experience with it, but it still took a while. Hermione mentally crossed her fingers, hoping Blaise would chalk up the delay to making necessary small talk with the Gryffindors before starting a chess game.

Finally, the last tumbler clicked, and Hermione stumbled into the next room.

The large chess board with tall, faceless pieces was just as intimidating as it was last time. There were sconces burning on the walls, throwing shadows into the corners of the room, and Hermione tried to take deep, calming breaths. She could feel her heart racing a mile a minute.

Biting her lip, Hermione stepped forward.

Figuring she'd try the obvious just to be sure, she tried to walk across the board, only to have the pawns block her way with large, intimidating spears. With a sigh, Hermione retreated to the black side of the board, considering, before tapping the black king. The faceless king turned toward her, and Hermione held out her hand expectantly.

"I want to play king," she informed the large block of stone.

After a long moment, the black king handed her a heavy obsidian crown that glinted in the torchlight and retreated to the side of the board.

Hermione settled the heavy crown onto her head, though it didn't fit well and kept slipping. With a groan, she pulled her hair up into a high ponytail to help stabilize it. If she had to do this again, she'd be sure to bring hair clips to attach the damn thing to her head – she didn't intend on dropping it and forfeiting the match by accident.

When she was done fussing with the crown, she realized that white had moved. One of its pawns had slid across the board. Hermione pulled the small chess board from her bag, grateful the pieces stuck to the board, and moved the same white pawn on her own set.

The three minutes she waited before a black pawn moved in response had her worriedly scanning the room for a chess clock. She breathed a sigh of relief, before ordering the same black pawn forward on the giant game.

Chess took a while like this, but Hermione was happily in no hurry. The beginning moves claimed territory on the board, and when a white knight took a black pawn, smashing it into large chunks of stone and a cloud of rock dust, Hermione was glad she'd had the foresight to play as the king. The king was never captured – only knocked over by its own color player at the end, if it lost.

As the game went on, Hermione got more nervous. As far she could tell, the game was close. Each color had lost a similar number of pieces, and the white queen was moving around with nearly terrifying speed as it demolished black's pawns.

Black moved on her small chessboard, and there was a commotion, and Hermione saw that a pawn had grown into another black queen, giving her two.

Hermione grinned, and made the same order.

The promotion of the pawn made a _spectacle_. The black statue grew and warped before her eyes, like the fast-forwarded growth of a flower, and the queen the pawn made looked different than the other queen, somehow. Almost… younger?

Hermione shook her head at her silliness at thinking one faceless statue looked younger than the other, and she returned her attention to the white queen demolishing her rook in retaliation instead.

It was only a few moves later that Blaise (and Hermione, by association) had managed to checkmate white with two queens and a knight, and the white king threw its crown at Hermione's feet.

With a squee, Hermione picked it up ( _another_ heavy stone piece). She looked back at her own pieces, but there was no indication of anything one way or another. Taking a deep breath, Hermione strode across the room – but this time, nothing tried to stop her. At the far end, she stepped confidently off the chessboard, grinning.

She'd made it.

She took the black crown off her head, carefully disentangling it from her curls. She looked at the white crown too, thoughtfully, before stashing them both in her bag. She might need them on her way back through to prove her victory.

Standing back up and hefting her bag onto her back, she paused at the door, sniffing.

Something…

Something smelled _awful_.

In fact…

Very, very slowly, Hermione pulled open the door to the other room, opening it just the slightest crack.

It was a troll.

Carefully, Hermione closed the door again, eyes wide, and began to consider her options.

The troll she'd faced at Halloween had nearly killed her, and she had had help, then. This was a challenge that she didn't know how to handle – was this really possible for a first year to beat?

Hermione sat there, thinking.

What did she know about trolls?

Trolls were slow and stupid, she knew. Trolls were also flammable, and often carried big sticks. In myth, exposing them to sunlight would turn them to stone. And…

And nothing. That was it.

Hermione found herself wishing she had learned how to fly by now. She'd give anything to be able to soar across the room, safely out of reach.

Hermione carefully peeked into the room again. The troll seemed bored, sitting against one side of the room on the ground, picking at its navel. It removed something from it, considered it, and ate it, and Hermione suppressed her resulting wave of nausea.

It… didn't _seem_ like it was angry, or like it was actively guarding anything. Was there a chance she could sneak by it? Or would it sniff her out, and subsequently murder her?

There _had_ to be a way a first-year could beat this obstacle, Hermione thought furiously. She'd come this far – she wasn't about to back down now!

From the ruddy green skin and scraggly brownish-green hair of the troll, it had to be a forest troll, which provided some comfort. Mountain trolls, the kind that Hermione had faced in the bathroom, were the most aggressive of all trolls, so this troll would at least be less hell-bent on murdering her. Though, it _would_ still want to murder her.

"First year spells, first year spells," Hermione muttered to herself, rapidly running backwards through their coursework. " _Incendio_ , but then everyone would know someone was here. What else, what else, what else… got it!"

Before she could talk herself out of it, she aimed a quick _Alohomora_ at the far door just in case, then ran into the troll room with a loud cry, pushing all the power she could through her wand.

_"Lumos!"_

Immediately, her wand lit up like a spotlight, and the troll cried out, blinded, and tried to cover its eyes. Hermione sprinted across the room, threw open the door and ran through it, slamming it shut behind her as fast as she could.

There was a sudden _whoosh_ behind her, but Hermione sat down hard on the ground, panting, as soon as she saw there wasn't any immediate threat. Black flames shot up in the doorway leading forward. Uneasily, Hermione looked behind her, only to see purple flames in the threshold. She looked around the room, but it was obvious there were only two doorways. She was trapped.

Steeling herself, Hermione stood up. All that was in the room was a long, thin table, with seven differently-shaped bottles lined up on it. There was a scroll on the table, next to the bottles. With anxiety slowly filtering into her mind, Hermione picked the scroll up and began to read.

_Danger lies before you, while safety lies behind,  
_ _Two of us will help you, whichever you would find,  
_ _One among us seven will let you move ahead,  
_ _Another will transport the drinker back instead,  
_ _Two among our number hold only nettle wine,  
_ _Three of us are killers, waiting hidden in line.  
_ _Choose, unless you wish to stay here forevermore,  
_ _To help you in your choice, we give you these clues four:  
_ _First, however slyly the poison tries to hide  
_ _You will always find some on nettle wine's left side;  
_ _Second, different are those who stand at either end,  
_ _But if you would move onward, neither is your friend;  
_ _Third, as you see clearly, all are different size,  
_ _Neither dwarf nor giant holds death in their insides;_  
_Fourth, the second left and the second on the right  
_ _Are twins once you taste them, though different at first sight._

Incredibly, Hermione found herself smiling.

It was a logic puzzle.

A _logic_ puzzle. Most wizards didn't seem to have an ounce of logical reasoning skills, and they'd be stuck here forever. But a _smart_ wizard could progress without difficulty.

It was brilliant.

How very Snape-like of Snape.

Hermione had brought along her entire potions kit in preparation for Snape's challenge. She'd even taken a collapsible cauldron from an old Potions classroom she'd found in the dungeons. She had been fully prepared to brew whatever impossibly challenging thing Snape had set forth for her, only to see this.

Amusedly, Hermione set about solving the puzzle.

It didn't take long. The smallest bottle would get her through the black flame. She took note – the round bottle on the end would get her back through the purple, if she had to come back the same way she came.

As she picked up the small bottle, she hesitated. She _did_ have her testing strips with her. Would Snape be so devious as to claim the bottles were one thing, but put something else in them?

…yes. Yes, he would.

The small bottle had very little liquid in it, and Hermione was uneasy about testing it. Instead, she set about testing for poison and nettle wine, to make sure she was correct. To her pleasure, each strip turned the color she was hoping for – meaning she'd located the poisons correctly, and there was no danger in drinking the small bottle.

With five of the seven correlating to what the puzzle claimed they were, Hermione felt confident enough to try. She drained the bottle, shuddering as a feeling of ice flooded her body. Putting the bottle down, she stepped forward into the black fire, and it was with relief realized she couldn't feel the flames licking her body, and then she was through.

What an interesting potion, Hermione mused. She wondered how Snape had made it, and what kind of flames burned black.

This chamber was very large, but it seemed empty. There weren't any other doors on the wall, and there were just stairs leading down toward the middle. As Hermione descended, she realized there was something there – a mirror.

Hermione carefully approached the mirror from the side. She'd read _Alice Goes Through the Looking-Glass_ as a child, and she had no intentions of getting trapped anywhere.

The mirror was tall and gilded, with a golden frame and two clawed feet. There were words engraved along the top, that Hermione carefully leaned over to make out. After a moment, with a frown, she dug out parchment and a self-inking quill from her bag, marking down the words.

_Erised stra ehru oy tube cafru oyt on wohsi_

Hermione put her quill away and frowned at the paper. She didn't recognize this language at all, and she could at least _recognize_ most European languages, though not read or speak them. She stared at the words, slowly growing more and more frustrated.

She had been trying to beat this obstacle course for months. She'd faced down Fluffy, escaped the Devil's Snare, beaten the flying keys, played the chess game, evaded the troll, and walked through _fire_. She'd obsessed over this for _months_. And now this stupid mirror was standing in her way?

"Why not?" Hermione said to herself. She stood up, her head held high. "It will all end here anyway."

Determined, Hermione moved and stood directly in front of the mirror, glaring defiantly.

She saw herself, glaring defiantly back, and Hermione relaxed, realizing that she wasn't going to be sucked in. The girl in the mirror relaxed too, then smiled, and Hermione tensed – she hadn't smiled.

The Hermione in the mirror looked amused and was smiling at her. Hermione watched as her reflection put its hand into its pocket and pulled out a blood-red stone. She watched as the mirror-Hermione winked, and put its hand back into its pocket – and as it did, Hermione felt something heavy drop into her _real_ pocket.

"What on earth…?"

Hermione stepped to the side of the mirror to investigate. She pulled out the same blood-red stone her reflection had held in the mirror. It seemed made of an opaque glass, mostly smooth with oddly jagged edges. It fit comfortably in her palm. Hermione stared at it.

_"What…?"_

This was the last room. This was absolutely the last room – there were no doorways to anywhere else. So this rock was her prize? Or had someone else beaten her here, a Gryffindor, perhaps, and left this red rock for her to find as a symbol of victory?

Hermione made a face. If so, what a rude thing to do.

It would be just like a Gryffindor to do it, though.

Hermione weighed her options carefully. If this was the prize, presumably it was valuable ( _somehow_ ) and a good prize, even if she didn't understand it. Or, if this was the prize, Dumbledore would ask who held it on the last day, and she would present it at the feast, and she'd win something in front of her peers there. Or, lastly, someone had beaten her here, and she'd found someone's calling card.

Hermione scowled and tried to think if there was any indication anyone else had been through the obstacle course.

Fluffy was unhurt, but that meant nothing – he was easy enough to avoid with music most of the time. Devil's Snare grew back quickly after being burned. None of Flitwick's keys had looked damaged, but there was no way to tell if someone else had picked the lock.

She presumed that McGonagall's chess pieces would reform themselves after the game, like any other wizard's chess set, and she was guessing Snape's bottles probably refilled themselves as well. The only other clue was the troll, which hadn't seemed to sustain any damage before she went through.

Hermione bit her lip, before realizing her biggest clue:

If a Gryffindor had gone through, there _would_ be an obvious sign that they'd gone through, one way or another.

Gryffindors, in her experience, were _not_ good at being subtle and leaving no trace of themselves.

With that thought, Hermione smiled. She'd leave no trace of herself, then, and leave a fake prize in the mirror. That way, if Dumbledore called for the real prize, and someone held up the fake one, she could cut them down by revealing the true one. Imagine if it was a 6th or 7th year, claiming victory, and she was able to triumph over _them_ …? It would be incredible.

Hermione set about looking around the room, investigating, before she finally found a loose stone. Focusing carefully, looking at the blood red stone on the floor, she waved her wand in a deliberate pattern, before whispering an incantation.

To her satisfaction, the rock in her hand transfigured into… _something_ of a duplicate of the real prize. It wasn't as mysterious and opaque looking, but it was blood red, about the right size, had a glassy quality to it, jagged edges, and looked cool. It would suffice, she figured. She hadn't learned what the prize was ahead of time, so hopefully anybody else who tried wouldn't know either.

Leaving the real stone in her bag on the side of the room, Hermione took her duplicate and stood in front of the mirror once more.

This time, she didn't see her reflection at _all_. She saw all her classmates, excited for her and showing obvious respect, as she held up the red stone. Draco was impressed and talking to her openly, Pansy looked shamed and regretful, and Blaise was calling for everyone to applaud her.

She blinked.

As she watched, her reflection slowly changed to include an upset redhead wearing a Gryffindor tie holding the duplicate stone – a mature Ron Weasley, almost? This mirror was odd.

Hermione tried putting her own duplicate into her pocket, but nothing happened. The mirror would not react. With a sigh, she pulled it back out.

How had the original rock gotten into the mirror?

"It needed hidden," Hermione muttered to herself. "It needed to be behind a puzzle."

As she watched her mirror-self enjoy the friendliness and open happiness of her Slytherin classmates, an idea slowly occurred to her.

"It didn't just need to be hidden," she murmured. "It needed to be _safe_."

Hermione closed her eyes, concentrating. As much as she craved the ability to feel safe and loved amongst her classmates, she knew she was a long way off, if it _ever_ happened. But she was working on her power and could keep herself safe. What she _couldn't_ keep safe was this rock.

This rock was too unusual, too special looking, she thought deliberately. And that was true – Pansy would want to know what it was, and it could be stolen from her bag easily. It needed to be kept safe – and she desperately wanted it to be kept safe, safe here, behind all these obstacles, difficult for someone else to find.

She opened her eyes, to see herself in the mirror – alone, once more, and holding out her hand.

Slowly, Hermione moved forward, the stone in her hand, watching as her reflection did the same with her empty outstretched hand. Hermione's hand touched the glass, and there was a cool, liquid-like sensation, and Hermione watched as her decoy stone went _into_ the glass, as if it were water.

She stepped back and looked up. Her reflection held the stone now, offered her a smile, and dropped it into her pocket.

Hermione smiled and nodded at her mirror-self, before stepping away to gather up her things.

What an odd last puzzle. It seemed too easy – just stand in front of a mirror and get the prize?

Who knows, she decided. Maybe it was Dumbledore's puzzle. And he'd always seemed a bit off.

The black flames had died down by the time Hermione returned to the potion room. They erupted behind her once again as she stepped through the threshold, and Hermione was pleased to see her guess was correct – the little bottle was back in its place, and full once again. She took the round bottle and secured her bag on her back, before drinking deeply, shuddering, and waving her wand wildly as she took off running through the next room.

_"Lumos!"_

The troll cried out and hid its eyes once again, and Hermione sprinted through the door and slammed it behind her, glad she'd left it open on her way through. Before her, the chess pieces had reformed, including kings' crowns.

Carefully, Hermione strode out onto the chessboard. To her relief, the black pawns didn't block her way, and she was relieved to not have to play her way across again – Blaise had probably long since put his own board away.

She shut the door firmly behind her, pleased to hear it magically lock behind her. She hadn't wanted to manually relock it with her picks.

The last door led out into the room with the ceiling of Devil's Snare, and Hermione couldn't help but grin. Above was Fluffy, and Hermione decided to just leave the music wand there, instead of trying to get it back. Let Fluffy have it as a toy – he'd destroy it soon enough, leaving no trace of her having been through.

Bracing herself, Hermione pulled open the last door and stepped through.

The world warped around her, tilting, and Hermione felt like she was spinning in space, lost, and her brain seemed to be rejecting the very idea of reality in an incredibly painful way, right before she was spat out directly in front of the forbidden corridor, landing hard on her rear.

"Ow…" She rubbed her rear, slowly getting up. She was definitely going to be bruised.

"You! What are you doing here?"

Hermione looked up to see Filch, looking at her furiously.

"I-I'm on my way to Astronomy class," Hermione said quickly. "I-It's Tuesday night – Slytherins have it at midnight."

Filch looked at her suspiciously.

"And the way to the Astronomy Tower is by the Forbidden Corridor, now, is it?" he sneered.

"I-I wasn't here a moment ago," she told him. "I was on the 7th floor a minute ago, making my way up. I think the Weasley Twins did something – all of a sudden, I was falling through the floor…"

Filch scowled.

"Those twins are the scourge of the castle," he muttered. He looked at her, sneering. "Well, what are you waiting for? Get to class, then, before I turn you in for lollygagging."

"Yes! Yes, sir!"

Hermione scampered, making her way up to the Astronomy tower with her Explorer's Pack on her back as if it were her bookbag. By the time she made it up, she was panting, and seriously regretting putting two heavy stone crowns in it before.

She slid into place just before Professor Sinistra arrived to begin telling them about Jupiter's orbit. Blaise slid over next to her, looking at her with one eyebrow raised.

"Got held up?"

"Weasley Twins," Hermione panted out, reusing the same excuse. Better to keep her lies consistent. "They took exception to me beating their brother in chess."

Blaise nodded, though he scowled.

"If they do it again, let me know," he told her. "We can declare for to all of House Weasley, if we need to, instead of just Ronald."

"I'll let you know," Hermione promised. "I don't think that's necessary just yet, though."

Blaise carefully looked her over, taking in her sweaty and dusty demeanor, before nodding and going back to his own spot.

Hermione tried her best to pay attention to her professor's lecture, but she just couldn't. She couldn't even pay attention to the gorgeous sight of Jupiter's moons through the telescope. Her thoughts kept wandering to the mysterious stone in her bag, and the odd mirror with the writing on top.

It was late in the night, long after her dorm mates had gone to sleep, after Hermione had taken a late-night shower to cleanse herself of all the rock and stone dust (and any lingering troll smell) from the obstacles and stashed her prize in her trunk, that Hermione sat up in her bed, braiding her damp hair and looking at the scrap of parchment, puzzled, when it came to her.

"It's _mirror-writing!_ "

Hermione grabbed a quill off her night stand, and she was quick to put the answer beneath the original words.

_Ishow no tyo urfac ebut yo urhe arts desire_

_I show not your face but your hearts desire_

Hermione bit her lip, considering.

Her heart's desire?

The first thing the mirror had shown her made sense. She'd wanted to 'win' the obstacle course and claim the prize more than anything else. She didn't know why that earned her the prize, though. Maybe it was just testing a person's determination to win?

The second thing the mirror had shown her – that shook her. Hermione hadn't realized how desperately she wanted to feel safe, loved, and as if she had real friends in Slytherin. Instead, she had allies, acquaintances, and enemies, and she had to constantly be on her game.

With a sigh, Hermione settled herself back into bed, shoving the parchment into her bedside drawer. She carefully tried to levitate herself off of the bed for a few minutes with the help of her air elemental (but ended up mostly bouncing on the bed until her power ran out), before she closed her eyes.

Regardless of the esteem of her classmates, she'd done something great, that none of them had ever done.

She'd beaten the 3rd floor corridor.

None of them could lay claim to that.

And with that thought, she fell asleep, a small smile on her lips.

Nothing would tarnish her victory.


	40. Bullying

**CW: Violence  
**

* * *

Hermione's joy at her victory carried her through the week precisely two days, into the evening of the second day in the Slytherin common room.

"Granger."

Hermione looked up from the book she was reading to see Pansy sneering down at her.

"Professor Snape is looking for you," she told her. "He's looking for a few of us. Follow me."

Closing her book obediently, Hermione hopped off the chair and followed Pansy out of the common room, deeper into the dungeons.

"We're not going to his office?" Hermione questioned as they passed it.

Pansy glanced back at her. "His office…? Ah… he wanted us to meet in an old classroom. For a demonstration, I think."

A demonstration? Hermione's mind lit with the possibilities of what Snape might want to quietly teach his Slytherins far beneath the school.

Upon reaching the classroom, Pansy gestured for Hermione to enter before her, which Hermione did without a thought. She glanced around – the old classroom was dank and didn't have many desks left in it. There were several other Slytherins all lounging around, sitting on the desks and chairs, and Hermione was mildly surprised that she would get to learn something along with the older students.

"Where is Professor Snape?" Hermione asked, looking around.

There was a _click_ , and Hermione turned to see Pansy stepping in front of the door, blocking the handle and lock from view. She offered Hermione a bland smile, and Hermione felt her heart slowly start to sink.

"There is no special demonstration by Professor Snape, is there?" she said quietly.

"Very good, Granger," an older, spotty boy said snidely, standing up. "What gave it away?"

"Even if Professor Snape would invite me to see an advanced magic demonstration with older students, he'd never have invited her," Hermione said, gesturing towards Pansy. "She can barely figure out which end of her wand to hold half the time."

Several of the older students snickered, and Pansy's face twisted with rage.

"That's why you're here now, Granger; you don't know your place," she spat. "Going around after Christmas like you'd deserved a proper pureblood courting gift, bossing everyone around at the snowball fight, acting like you're better than everybody else..."

"Some of us decided to remind you of your proper place in the world," said a large boy, who cracked his knuckles ominously.

"And in case you've forgotten where that is," said an older girl, with an oily smile, "it's in the ground."

* * *

Hermione had been bullied before at Muggle school.

Hermione hadn't been very popular, and she'd had the bad habit of correcting her peers when they made mistakes or spoke with improper grammar. It hadn't earned her any friends, but it had definitely made her enemies, and Hermione had found recess a trial for a long time. Before her magic had matured enough to start lashing out and protecting her with regularity, Hermione had been cornered and physically bullied a fair few times – generally a few punches, hair-pulling, slapping, and the like.

It had hurt, but she had survived it, often by playing pathetic and acting more hurt than she actually was. She hadn't been able to adequately defend herself, so surrendering and giving up had left the bullies to declare victory sooner rather than later, leaving her with fewer potential injuries than she might have gained if she hadn't faked injury.

One thing Hermione had enjoyed about being in Hogwarts so far was her ability to defend herself. A snide remark could earn someone a curse, and people had largely stopped bullying her after the first couple months, once they'd realized she could defend herself.

It only took Hermione half a second of seeing seven wands pointed at her to immediately decide that attempting to defend herself wasn't going to be a viable option this time.

" _Expelliarmus!"_

Hermione's wand went flying out of her hand, despite her trying to grab for it, and it clattered to the floor a distance away from her. The next spell that hit her Hermione didn't hear, but she _felt_ – sharp pain lanced across her leg, and she screamed, dropping to the ground.

"Can't have a Mudblood like you prancing around the school like you're on the same level as the rest of us," spat one of the boys. He hit her with another spell, and the same pain lanced her other leg – her Achilles tendon, she realized vaguely, even as she screamed again. Someone knew their anatomy.

"That's better," the older girl said, smirking in satisfaction. "Sniveling on the floor, scared and cowering."

"Much better place for a Mudblood," one of the guys agreed.

Someone hit her with another spell, cutting open her robes and slicing over her chest. Hermione screamed again and started to cry, and another cutting curse narrowly missed her eyes, striking across her forehead, cutting a few of her curls short, too.

"Don't _blind_ her," the girl snapped.

"I'm not! I missed – she was squirming. I was trying to leave a scar on her cheek for her to remember us by-"

Hermione curled up into a ball, holding herself tightly. She screamed and cried at each hit she took. Eventually, the students seemed to tire of curses, and they began kicking her and spitting on her, before they tired of this as well.

"Come on," one of the boys said, finally. "Only an hour till curfew. Let's get out of here; she won't be found until Filch patrols, and we need to establish alibis by then."

The group all filtered out, spitting on her or giving her snide remarks as they left, one by one. Pansy was the last to leave, casting a smug, smirking look backwards, before she slammed the door behind her. Hermione could hear the lock click into place.

Finally, the dungeon fell silent.

Taking a slow breath, Hermione carefully began uncurling herself, taking stock of her injuries.

First – the cuts on her body. That pain was sharp and distracting – and some of them were still bleeding. That could get dangerous, fast. Next, the bruising – Hermione didn't know how to tell if she had internal organ damage herself, but the sooner she could get that checked out, the better.

She crawled across the floor, finding her wand under one of the desks. She carefully picked it up, her hands weak, and thanked her lucky stars she'd lingered in the Hospital Wing with Malfoy.

_"Episkey."_

She healed the cuts on her arms first, though it took a few tries, with her shaky hands. After that, she fixed her severed Achilles' tendons, with a screech and a whimper – they hurt almost as much being knit back together as they had when they were cut.

After healing a few more cuts on her legs and body, Hermione shakily got to her feet.

There was blood on the floor, which didn't come as a surprise. As much as Hermione wanted to leave evidence of what she had been through as proof of her story, another part of her roiled at the idea; the Slytherins had _planned_ this attack. They weren't about to be caught, blood puddle or not. And leaving her blood lying around was _dangerous_ – Hermione had a book of rituals that had a fair few examples of just how dangerous that could be.

With a groan, Hermione flicked a cleaning spell at it, then another, then another. After six of them, she hit the stones with a bleaching spell, and a heavy smell clogged the room. But at least her blood was gone.

Stumbling to the door, Hermione aimed her wand at the door.

_"Alohomora."_

The lock clicked open, and Hermione carefully made her way down the hallway, leaning heavily on the walls as she did. She wiped her hands off periodically on her robes so she wouldn't leave bloody hand prints as she did, but she was getting dizzy. She hoped Snape's office wasn't much further.

Finally, she turned into the familiar corridor, and she nearly cried with relief as she saw the familiar sconces outside his office door. Instead, she managed a relatively steady knock.

"Enter."

Hermione pushed open the door and moved to stand in front of Snape's desk, closing the door behind her. Snape was grading papers; it took him a moment to glance up fully from his desk, and she knew the moment he did, because suddenly he was standing, his eyes wide with alarm.

"Miss Granger!"

Hermione could imagine what she looked like. She had a cut across her forehead that was still bleeding profusely – she hadn't wanted to try and heal a wound she couldn't see. She had shredded robes, damp with blood, and her white school blouse had turned red and sticky.

"Professor Snape," she said calmly. "I've come to request a Blood-Replenishing Potion."

Her cool delivery was ruined entirely by her swooning at the end of her sentence and falling sideways into the chair, her vision spinning. Snape was next to her a moment later, casting diagnostics under his breath, before casting a charm, a bottle zooming to him from the shelves.

"Blood replenisher," he told her, uncorking it. "Drink."

Hermione drank the potion, the thick liquid nearly making her choke. A moment later, she sighed, and she felt herself relax slightly as the dizziness began to recede.

"Thank you, Professor," she told him.

"Do not thank me yet, you silly girl," Snape told her, snarling. "I think you may have a lacerated spleen. We need to get you to Madam Pomfrey immediately."

"No!" Hermione objected. "No. No, professor, can't you just help heal me? I don't want to go to the Hospital Wing."

Snape stared at her in astonishment.

"Miss Granger, you are not usually one of my dimmer students," he informed her. "Pray tell, why are you suddenly acting a fool and refusing desperately-needed medical treatment?"

"I fell down the stairs," Hermione said promptly. "I'm very embarrassed about my clumsiness. I don't want anyone else to know."

Snape's eyes were piercing.

"Fell down some stairs," he snarled. "They must have been very sharp stairs, to cut you up so."

"Very sharp, sir," Hermione agreed. "Rotten bit of luck, on my part."

Snape swore and stood, cloak swirling behind him as he stormed off into the small room connected to his office. Hermione sat on the chair for a long moment or two and swayed a bit; the blood replenishing potion was helping, but it was making her a lot more aware of just how much everything _hurt._

"-she _what?_ "

Professor Snape abruptly returned, Madam Pomfrey in tow, and gestured rudely toward Hermione.

"See for yourself," he said snidely. "Mind the blood on the floor."

"Oh, you dear girl!" Madam Pomfrey fell to her knees beside her, already casting diagnostics. "Whatever happened to you?"

Hermione glanced at Professor Snape.

"I fell down some stairs," Hermione said.

Madam Pomfrey gave her a sharp look.

"I understand this Slytherin nonsense of not ratting each other out, but this is for your health, Hermione," she said. "I need to know for medical accuracy. What _really_ happened?"

Hermione hesitated.

"Well, the stairs certainly hurt more than most stairs generally do," she said carefully. "In fact, it felt an awful lot like cutting charms to my Achilles' tendons, then to the rest of my body, then like several solid kicks to my stomach, back, and ribs."

Snape snarled and stormed around behind his desk, pacing. Hermione bit her lip; he was a bit frightening like this. She didn't really think he was mad at _her_ , but Hermione knew he wasn't pleased with her not telling him the truth.

"Cutting charms to the Achilles' tendons?" the nurse echoed, frowning at Hermione's ankles.

"I healed them," Hermione explained. "Episkey. I- ah- I didn't think I could walk without healing that first."

Madame Pomfrey looked impressed.

"I'd wondered if you'd learned anything, from shadowing me in the Hospital Wing last term," she said. "Hold on to your chair, Miss Granger. This is going to hurt."

She cast several spells in quick succession, and Hermione gasped and whimpered. It _did_ hurt. A lot.

"I have just fixed your lacerated spleen and internal bleeding," she informed her. "Both of which could have easily been fatal if not treated in a timely manner."

Hermione gave her a bland smile.

"I'm glad I was treated, then," she said politely.

"Oh, hold on, Miss Granger," Madam Pomfrey said darkly. "We're not done yet."

* * *

By the time she was done, Hermione had had her head wound cleaned and healed, two broken ribs repaired and put back into place, the multitude of cuts on her body healed, the bruises on her body magically taken care of, and even the scars on her body left behind from her own poor healing attempts wiped away. By the time Madam Pomfrey had been satisfied, Hermione had been stripped to her underclothes and examined all over, as well as been fed another Blood-Replenishing potion.

"Well, Miss Granger," Madam Pomfrey said finally. "I daresay this is the worst case of having fallen down the stairs that I've seen yet."

Hermione offered a trembling smile. "I'm very clumsy, I suppose."

Madam Pomfrey looked upset herself, but she stood and gathered her things, turning to go. Hermione felt a bolt of panic.

"Madam Pomfrey?" Hermione said, and the nurse turned back. Hermione bit her lip. "Because I wasn't _actually_ ever in the Hospital Wing, I wouldn't need to be marked down on the official Hospital Wing intake forms, would I? Or on the sign-in sheet?"

Madam Pomfrey gave Hermione a long look.

"No, I suppose not," she said finally, with a sigh. "Have a good evening, Miss Granger, Professor Snape."

She flounced from the room into the side room, where Hermione presumed Professor Snape had a fireplace hooked up to the Floo.

With a sigh, Hermione touched her fixed-up sides, tentatively pressing on her skin. There was still a definite ache, but there was no longer the deep pain of severe bruising.

"Miss Granger."

Hermione quickly looked up to see Professor Snape looking at her from across his desk, his face dark. She shivered.

"Explain."

Hermione looked at him, considered, took a deep breath, and told him what happened.

She left nothing out. She included Pansy coming to get her, and everything the students had said to her during the altercation. She recounted the order of the attacks, who had hit her, how many times, and how hard. How they'd left her bleeding in the room, intending for her to be caught by Filch. Snape's face did not change during her story, but his eyes grew darker and darker.

"And who, pray tell, were these noble Slytherins?" Snape said quietly.

Hermione bit her lip. "I don't know."

Snape's nostrils flared. "Miss Granger-"

"I don't _know_ ," Hermione said again, her voice a bit of a wail. "Professor, I don't _know_ them. I stay away from the older students – all they do is say mean things or try to trip me. I don't know who most of them are, only the prefects. I only know what they look like, not their names."

Snape stood immediately and left the room again, leaving Hermione sitting there for another long minute or two, looking down at her ruined clothes and wondering what to do with them.

"Here."

A book was plopped down in front of her, and Hermione looked up at Snape slowly. Snape nodded expectantly, and Hermione looked back down.

It was a yearbook.

"I didn't know that Hogwarts even _had_ these," Hermione said wonderingly.

Snape ignored her.

"Find your attackers," Snape said silkily. "Identify them."

Hesitantly, Hermione paged through the book, finding the listing of Slytherin house last. Her attackers looked different in the yearbook than they had in the classroom – their faces not as twisted with hatred, and more normal-looking – but Hermione was able to pick out all six of them.

"The seventh was Pansy Parkinson," Hermione told him. "She's a first year; she wouldn't be in last year's book."

Snape was busy writing down names and ignored her. After he did, he took a deep breath, and Hermione watched as her teacher appeared to try to steady himself.

"Miss Granger," he told her. "What I am about to tell you is something I am not proud of. I do endeavor to be honest with my students, though, and I am afraid there are things you must know."

Hermione straightened. "I'm listening."

"If you go to the Headmaster to report this, most likely, nothing will happen," Snape told her seriously. "These students will have made sure to have iron-clad alibis, and it will be the word of one first year against seven of theirs."

Hermione blinked.

"I… kind of assumed that part, sir," she admitted. "Things in Slytherin don't exactly play out like they do in the other houses, do they?"

Snape's lips twisted.

"No, Miss Granger, they do not." He grimaced. "It is at this point I must tell you a second unfortunate truth: I cannot punish these students."

Hermione bit her lip.

"I didn't think you could either, for the same reason," she said. "But, if you're telling me this separately… you can't punish them for a different reason?"

Snape nodded once, sharply, and Hermione scowled.

"It's their names, isn't it?" she said, angry. "Their names, their stupid bloodlines, and whoever their stupid parents are. That's protecting them, isn't it? Stupid politics."

She scowled at his desk, arms folded, and Snape sighed. There was a silence where Hermione just glared at his desk, fuming at the unfairness of it all, while Snape said nothing.

"Miss Granger," he said finally.

Hermione looked up.

"The same constraint that would protect these families from any potential scandal of their children attacking someone runs both ways," he said. His eyes bored into hers. "If, for example, someone were to attack _them_ , and _best_ them, especially if that student were _younger_ than them, and of what was considered 'lesser' blood…"

Hermione nodded slowly.

"The embarrassment would be incredible," she said slowly. "Their families would tell them not to make a fuss and to handle it themselves, rather than admit what happened."

Snape inclined his head.

"…but that could end up in an escalating war," Hermione said, worrying at her lip. "If, _hypothetically_ , I were to go after them, and somehow _win_ , what's to stop them from coming back after _me?_ I don't want to have to watch my back the rest of my life."

Snape raised an eyebrow at her.

"Hermione," he said, surprising her. "Are you going to go off and attack these students right now?"

"What?" Hermione said, surprised. "Um. No. Well, maybe Pansy. But the rest, of course not – they're all much older than me. They'd pummel me."

"And if you _do_ decide to go after them, and extract your revenge, when would you do it?" he asked, his eyes gleaming.

"After I was sure I could beat them," Hermione said slowly. "I wouldn't do it unless I thought I could win."

"And if you _win_ , Miss Granger," Snape said, looking at her directly, "after having gotten to that place – do you really think any of them would be able to win against you again?"

Hermione considered, a small smile growing across her face.

"No," she said simply. "I don't."

"Then," Snape said, "you have your answer."

Hermione thought about this for several minutes, before looking back to Snape.

"Professor," she said finally. "You're not really like any of the other professors in this school, are you?"

Snape apparently took this as a compliment, and he smirked, dark laughter dancing in his eyes.

"Oh, Miss Granger, you have already said it yourself," he said, his eyes glinting. "In Slytherin, we do things _very_ differently."


	41. The Quiet

Hermione showed up to classes looking and acting completely normally the day after the bullying incident. Pansy had been trying to hide her surprise, but Hermione was careful to show no reaction and give nothing away. She was quieter, though – she didn't raise her hand quite as often in class, and she kept to herself during the practical exercises. Crabbe and Goyle were distressed over it – her helping them in Charms class had been what was helping them pass.

Hermione still claimed top marks in class, and she still answered the teachers whenever she was called upon, but she took upon herself a somewhat more reserved attitude. She wasn't going to shirk her classes, and she certainly wasn't going to not achieve everything she could because of a bunch of bullies, but there was no need to advertise the fact and be ostentatious about it – not while she couldn't beat them, if they were to attack again.

Hermione felt _different_ , afterward. It was hard to see a face in the hallway, and not flinch, remembering that same face twisted with hatred as it aimed a cutting charm at you. Just managing _normal_ was a challenge, and Hermione began avoiding the Slytherin common room, instead meeting with Blaise, Tracey, and Millie in old classrooms to study, claiming that the classrooms were warmer than the previous ones they'd used in the dungeons.

Things remained much the same, on the outside. Hermione still endured snide remarks from the older Slytherins, but she retained the respect she'd earned of her classmates and a few others in the lower years. But Hermione was _disappointed,_ oddly enough, she realized; she'd come so far in gaining the respect of her classmates that it'd seemed like she'd climbed a huge mountain, when really, she'd only mounted the smallest foothill of overcoming the blood prejudice she faced. And although nothing had really changed, Hermione felt like _everything_ was different.

Hogwarts just didn't seem quite as magical anymore.

Her Gryffindor friends noticed the difference in her behavior, and after much pestering, Hermione finally opened up about being bullied to her friends, though she skimped on the details of what had happened – mostly by leaving them out entirely.

Which was a good decision – these friends were Gryffindors, after all, and would have run to McGonagall in indignation on her behalf if she'd told. Just admitted that Pansy and some older Slytherins were giving her a hard time had them furious.

"Can't you just talk to Snape about it?"

" _Professor_ Snape, Harry," Hermione corrected. "And no."

Hermione, Harry, and Neville were hanging out in one of the higher towers, near the Divination classroom. It was warmer up here, and the air smelled like cinnamon and something else. It was calming to Hermione, and even better, _far_ away from the Slytherin common room, where Hermione didn't quite feel safe anymore.

"Professor McGonagall would take exception to bullying in Gryffindor," Neville said. "I think Lavender and Parvati were teasing Sally-Ann a little too much, and McGonagall set them straight in a hurry."

"It's different in Slytherin," Hermione said moodily. She sat herself on a nearby window ledge, swinging her feet. "If I went to a teacher, it'd be saying that I can't handle my problems on my own."

"But you're _eleven._ You're not supposed to _have_ to handle this on your own," Harry said. "The teachers even _like_ you. You don't think they'd help you with Pansy?"

"Twelve," Hermione corrected. "And no, absolutely not. It might stop the bullying, but it'd lose any respect I've gained so far in Slytherin."

Neville grimaced. "I'll never get how you got sorted into that rotten house, Hermione. You're so nice!"

"Ambition, I guess," Hermione said, kicking the wall. "It's not _all_ bad. It's just… I get so _frustrated_ , you know? I don't want to have to constantly deal with this."

"Maybe you could show her up?" Harry suggested. "What are you good at that she's not?"

Neville snorted. "Besides everything?"

Hermione laughed.

"Pansy's marks aren't great, but they're not horrible, either," she said. "I just… I need to show them that I can do something that proves that I _belong_."

"Down to a duel or some archaic Pureblood tradition, then," Neville sighed. "Probably have to be a duel. The weird Pureblood traditions aren't really done anymore. Some people say they're Dark Magic."

"Are they?" Hermione asked, raising an eyebrow.

Neville looked uncomfortable.

"Not… not _really_ ," he said. "But some of them involve blood, which makes people uneasy. A lot of people squirm at the thought of blood magic."

"Why?" Harry asked. "Is it evil?"

"A lot of Dark spells and rituals use people's blood to target them," Neville said, looking more and more uneasy. "So people don't like it. It seems like a slippery slope, to most witches and wizards."

"A duel, then," Hermione said, tactfully changing the subject. "She's bound to refuse if I challenge her. How can I force her into it?"

" _Is_ there some fancy pureblood honor-duel system?" Harry asked, looking at Neville. "Is there a way for her to challenge Pansy without Pansy being able to refuse? And if she refuses, she looks like a coward?"

"I don't think that's legal anymore," Neville said, hesitant. "It definitely wouldn't be legal for children."

"Probably a good thing," Hermione muttered, hopping off the window ledge. "I'd have probably ended up dueling Ron my first week here."

"And I'd actually have dueled Malfoy," Harry said, making a face.

"We'll think of something, Hermione," Neville encouraged. "I'm sure we will."

Hermione gave them both a smile as they started down the stairs.


	42. The Ravenclaws

The Ravenclaw Common room, in some ways, was more welcoming than the Slytherin one. When Terry Boot had invited her up for a study group after the end of History of Magic, Hermione hadn't hesitated in accepting.

Where the Slytherin common room was regal, stately, and imposing, the Ravenclaw common room was graceful and open. The walls were hung with blue and bronze silks that were interspersed with windows, and the ceiling was painted with stars to evoke the night sky, echoed in the midnight-blue carpet of the floor. Well-made wooden tables with chairs abounded, as did pillows, couches, side tables, and other places for reading and studying. There was a large marble statue of Rowena Ravenclaw next to the door that Hermione couldn't help but be impressed by. There was no similar statue of Slytherin in her own common room.

Hermione sat down with Terry Boot, Michael Corner, Mandy Brocklehurst, and Anthony Goldstein at one of the tables. She garnered a few raised eyebrows and glances with her Slytherin jumper, but no one seemed to bother themselves enough to inquire. As she scooched her chair in, she was surprised to find the chair unusually comfortable.

Anthony must have seen her surprise. "Cushioning charms," he told her, grinning. He tapped his own chair. "They'll save your back and bottom from soreness after studying."

Hermione wondered why no one had ever thought to apply the same thing to the Slytherin chairs. Maybe they preferred them to be uncomfortable, to promote better posture or something.

"So we're discussing the Mending Charm," Mandy said, pulling out her book. "Flitwick wants a foot on the elements of the spell and other general information – probably just to test for retention and comprehension, before we try."

"Fair enough," Terry said, nodding. "Has anyone gotten the Mending Charm to work yet?"

Hermione looked around as the others looked from person to person, before raising her own hand. They all looked impressed.

"Really?" said Michael Corner. "This isn't an easy spell. You've gotten the hang of it already?"

"The wand movement is similar to _Episkey_ ," Hermione explained. "It just leaves a swoosh off the end. They do similar things, after all."

" _Episkey_?" Anthony asked.

"It's a basic healing spell," Hermione said. "But here; I can show you the Mending Charm."

With a quick _Diffindo_ , she sliced one of the wall hangings. There was a horrible ripping noise, and an angry shout from Michael. Hermione was quick with the second spell, before someone else could notice and raise a fuss.

" _Reparo,_ " she said clearly, her wand work careful and flawless.

Her compatriots watched as the hanging sewed itself back together, the magical stitches melting into nothing as the fabric sealed.

"We didn't even _learn_ the Severing Charm, yet," Michael objected. "That's _after_ the repairing charm in the book, so we can fix what we've torn."

Hermione shrugged.

"I fixed it, didn't I?" she said, somewhat uncomfortable. She looked to Anthony, who was grinning. "Did you at least catch the wand movement?"

"I did," Anthony said. He traced his wand through the air. "Like this?"

"It's more a circle and spiral than a loop-de-loop," Hermione suggested, moving her own wand through the air slowly. "Think of the wholeness and one-ness of a circle – no beginning, no end. Then a spiral to direct the power."

Terry Boot stopped his note taking and stared. His eyes were surprisingly intense, and Hermione shifted, uncomfortable.

"Does it say that in the book?" he demanded.

Hermione bit her lip. "Err – no."

"Then how do you know what the wand motion is for?"

"I– umm–"

Hermione bit her lip. She didn't remember where she learned it.

"It's like _Episkey_ , though," she tried. She traced her wand through the air for that spell. "See, the circle in the beginning to represent wholeness, the spiral to direct the power safely, the side swish to indicate a person, and the flick to let the spell go."

"None of us know _Episkey_ ," Mandy said. "Did the book you learned about _Episkey_ from break it down like that?"

Hermione wracked her brain.

"Umm," she said intelligently. She flushed. "I- I don't remember. I guess it must have."

Anthony laughed.

"I guess that's what having a direct line to Magic itself is like," he said, smiling at her. "You just _know_ things about magic, without really knowing where it came from at all."

Hermione flushed and threw an eraser at him, which he deftly caught and grinned.

Terry was looking at her with new respect.

"Is that what it is?" he said. "Is this something being a New Blood lets you understand?"

Hermione flushed, but she didn't say anything.

"Well, then," Terry said, sitting up. He flipped the pages in his book backwards, letting them thump to the right side. He looked up at her. "Break down the wand movements in the Levitation Charm for me, then."

"We've already learned that one," Michael Corner objected.

"If I've got a direct line to deeper understanding of magic, I'm going to use it," Terry shot back. He looked back to Hermione, his dark eyes glinting. "…please?"

Hermione bit her lip, considering. She didn't _really_ have a direct line to magic. It wasn't like she knew the meaning behind the wand movements for the Levitation charm, did she?

She swished and flicked her own wand, before realizing – she _did._

"The swish is to gather your power, and the flick is to connect it to your target," Hermione said, swishing and flicking her own wand at an inkwell, guiding it into the air. "If you focus, you can feel your magic holding the object up. The charm doesn't release until you let it go."

Terry nodded, taking notes, while Mandy elbowed Anthony.

"Did she just do that charm wordlessly?" she hissed.

Anthony grinned. "I think so."

Hermione hadn't realized. She'd done the charm so often… every night for _months_. It was second-nature, at this point. Fighting a self-conscious flush, she guided the inkwell back down.

"And Lumos?"

Hermione cast the charm, letting her wand glow softly. "That's just pushing your power through your wand. The spell converts it into light. The more power you push through, the brighter the light is."

"Alohomora?"

Hermione traced an 'S' shape through the air. "The incantation helps guide the purpose of the spell, whereas the movement guides the magic in the general direction you need to unlock a door – the pins and tumblers, then the lock itself. If a lock doesn't unlock the first try on Alohomora, a different or backwards wand movement can help – it depends on the design of the lock."

Michael and Mandy were staring at her openly, now. Anthony was just grinning, leaning back in his chair with his hands behind his head, like he was just enjoying the show.

"Incendio?"

"You're literally tracing the shape of a flame with the wand, to guide the magic into purpose. The sharp flick at the end indicates a violence, which allows the magic to create the spark that catches fire."

"Is this all in a book somewhere?" Mandy asked. "I want to know all this too."

"Umm," Hermione said, wracking her brain. "If it is, I don't know. I haven't found one or read one, at any rate."

"Then how do you know all this?" she asked.

"Hermione is New Blood," Anthony told her.

"New Blood?"

Hermione almost answered her, but Anthony beat her to it.

"You know how there are purebloods and halfbloods, right? Every pureblood line was founded ages and ages ago by a New Blood – a person Magic touched directly, giving them power. They all went on to found Great Houses."

Hermione could practically hear the capitalization in his voice, as he over-pronounced certain things.

"Hermione is a New Blood. It's special – there hasn't been one in _centuries_. Magic's touched her _personally_ , so she has a direct line into Magic itself. That's why she's so good – her unconscious is directly tapped into Magic, allowing her to intuitively learn and understand all this."

Mandy looked at Hermione with a new respect.

"Sorry, Hermione," Mandy apologized. "I didn't know. I thought you were a Muggle-born."

Hermione offered her a small smile back, going for regal and gracious.

"That's okay," she said. "New Bloods are very rare. A lot of my own house still don't believe me yet."

Terry looked up from his notes, surprised. He had ink splattered across his nose.

"Really?" he said. "Even after seeing your power? Seeing all you can do and understand?"

"Slytherins don't really study together," Hermione explained. "Only very rarely. They just see what I can do in class. And… they're _very_ prejudiced against people from Muggle backgrounds."

Michael Corner snorted.

"Trust the snakes to have their heads up their asses," he said. He glanced at Hermione. "No offense."

"None taken," Hermione said, laughing, Anthony laughing as well.

"You're welcome to take refuge in Ravenclaw," Terry Boot declared. "You're as smart as any of us, and we _like_ learning and new knowledge."

"Thanks for the official invitation, Terry," Hermione said, grinning. "I'll definitely take you up on it."

Anthony shot her a smirk, and Hermione had to fight the urge to blush. He really _was_ very good-looking.

"Now, the spell?" Anthony suggested. "Let's knock this essay out of the way. Then Hermione can help us practice the spell before class."

Hermione wrote the essay absently, unable to really focus. It was interesting to hear someone else describe her as being New Blood, and what they thought it entailed. She wondered who Anthony had heard about it from – she didn't remember who all she'd informed that she was New Blood, but it hadn't been that many. Part of her plan had been to let the information spread naturally; people would be more likely to believe a rumor about her than a direct claim she made herself.

She wondered, though. She didn't remember where she'd read about wand movements and their meanings. It was kind of odd.


	43. The Permission Slip

Hermione had watched Professor Quirrell carefully for months.

He was a poor teacher, sure, but Hermione wondered if there was something more.

His stutter, for example, was inconsistent. He'd stutter on different consonants at the beginning of a words, but not stutter on the same consonant later in the same sentence. Sometimes, the stutter dropped completely, before being picked back up, as if he had remembered he had forgotten it. There were no repeated syllables or vowel sounds – only easy-to-stutter consonants.

She'd also learned that before, he'd been the Professor of Muggle Studies. She wasn't sure _how_ being a teacher of Muggle Studies qualified one to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts, but his lack of actual proficiency in the subject definitely showed in the lack of accuracy in the information he was teaching them.

His bad teaching had a _purpose_ to it, though. He didn't just get things wrong – he taught them things that would purposefully make them weak to Dark Magic. His instruction on what to do if a small, dark creature bit you would heal your wound, sure – but it wouldn't extract the dark magic from it. His advice on how to run away was to run as straight and as fast as possible to gain the maximum distance, even though everyone in the Muggle world had long since worked out the best way to flee from fire was to zig-zag.

And from what the older students had said, Quirrell had _changed_. He hadn't used to be so scared, and he never used to teach wrong information before. He'd used to be meticulous about checking his sources, apparently, which couldn't be more different than his teaching style now.

It had been with curiosity that Hermione approached him after class one day.

"Professor?"

He looked up, nodding to her as her classmates filed out of the room.

"Miss G-g-g-granger."

"I was wondering if you would sign this," she said, handing him a slip of parchment. Quirrell glanced at it, then looked at it again, before looking up at her.

"This is a request for books from the Restricted Section," he said.

 _No stutter now_ , she noted.

Aloud, she said, "Yes. I'm interested in learning more about rituals."

Quirrell raised an eyebrow. It was a trait Hermione had never seen him have before.

"Why do you want me to sign this?"

"I'm curious to learn what they consist of, so I can better protect myself against them," Hermione recited. "We learn a lot about protecting ourselves from modern magic, but not about protecting ourselves from old magic."

Quirrell snorted and moved to sit down behind his desk. Hermione stared at him.

"Miss Granger, neither of these books has a thing to do with defense from ritual targeting," he said. "They are exclusively about rituals and how to do them."

 _He's read them?_ Hermione was surprised.

"I didn't know that. After all, I haven't read them," she said reasonably.

Professor Quirrell gave her a sharp look, and again Hermione felt like she was interacting with someone entirely different than her tentative Defense professor.

"Miss Granger," he said, looking at her. His eyes were piercing. "Why do you want these books?"

Her anger at Pansy rushed to the forefront of her mind, almost against her will, and Hermione found the truth spilling from her lips.

"I want to retaliate against a housemate who keeps bullying me and insisting that I'm a Mudblood," she said, her anger leaking into her voice. "I don't know enough spells to do something good through charm work, so I was hoping I could find something to work and adapt in a book of rituals."

"And you want to do a target ritual to affect her?" Quirrell's voice was perfectly even. "Some would consider that dark magic."

"Surely it depends on the ritual, professor," she said, her eyes wide and her voice innocent. "And at this point, it's all hypothetical, anyway."

Quirrell's lip curled. "Of course."

To her surprise, he signed the form, and added two more books to the top of the list.

"You will find these to be better references for ritual creation," he told her. "The other two are more grimoires of rituals than instructional. But I'm sure you'll find all of them… _illuminating_."

Hermione stared at him, and he smiled. It was an oily, odd sort of smile. His eyes darkened.

"I know what it is like to be in Slytherin and be bullied for not being a pureblood, Miss Granger," he told her quietly. "The House of Slytherin was supposed to be for the ambitious and the powerful, and nothing else. Many people have forgotten what our founder stood for and wanted."

Hermione nodded slowly, picking up her form. The way he was looking at her, something dark inside his eyes – she felt frightened.

 _Frightened._ Of _Quirrell._

"If you w-w-would like any further help," he said, his eyes losing their edge, "let me know. I am always h-h-happy to h-h-help an enterprising young scholar."

"Thank you, sir," Hermione said, recognizing her dismissal. "I appreciate the help."

She left quickly, clutching her form, and went straight to the library.

Madam Pince gave her a sharp look when she handed her the form, but after testing it for authenticity, she went and got the requested books for Hermione, who thanked her quickly and went to the back of the library to read.

Before she started in on the books, she stopped to check on something else.

According to the yearbook for 1984, Quirinus Quirrell had been sorted into Ravenclaw.

Hermione looked down at the picture of his cheerful face, smiling up at her happily from amongst his classmates.

She shivered and closed the book, before reaching for one of her new ones and disguising the cover.

 _Ravenclaw, not Slytherin,_ the back of her mind echoed. _He lied, or it was not Quirrell talking to you._

Hermione resolutely ignored the voice in her head and determinedly got to work.


	44. A Small Complication

Hermione's routine was thrown off in the middle of February, by something she had not expected to be a big deal: Valentine's Day.

Given it was a Muggle, originally _Christian_ holiday, Hermione hadn't thought Hogwarts would pay the slightest bit of attention to it, but apparently, Valentine's Day was a big deal amongst her peers.

This irritated her.

_Severely._

"It's _not_ a Wizarding holiday!" she ranted in the common room, Blaise watching her with amusement. "It's _Muggle._ There is absolutely no reason for us to be celebrating this."

"But it's _fun_ ," Tracey objected. "When else would we get to send valentines to people?"

"Valentines are juvenile and trivial," Hermione said firmly. Tracey looked aghast.

"It's such _fun_ , though," Tracey repeated. "It's _nice_ to have Valentine's Day! It helps cheer everybody up after the dreariness of the winter."

"That's what _Beltane_ is for," Hermione snapped, and she noticed Draco stick his head up, looking at her. A couple other of the Slytherins did too.

"Beltane isn't widely celebrated anymore," Blaise commented from her side, examining his nails. "Wizards say some of the traditional rituals are archaic and dark. More of them celebrate Easter, now."

" _Another_ Muggle holiday?" Hermione couldn't believe it. "Yule and Christmas are so close in tradition that I can understand, and Samhain and Halloween are fairly close as well, but _Easter?_ This is ridiculous."

"Aren't they your holidays, though, Hermione?" Pansy's simpering voice made Hermione twitch, even before she saw the pug-faced girl emerge from the crowd. "Didn't you grow up with them?"

Hermione gave her a dark look. "You'll notice _I'm_ not the one celebrating them."

She gave a lingering look up and down Pansy, who was wearing a black sweater with pink hearts on it. Pansy flushed and glared at her.

"It's not like you'll get any valentines, anyway," she sniffed, stalking over to the other side of the common room.

Hermione ignored her and turned to Blaise.

"Am I really expected to participate in this farce?" she demanded. "What are the wizarding rules regarding a Muggle holiday?"

Blaise shrugged.

"It's my first time at Hogwarts, too," he reminded her. "How should I know?"

"People generally only send things to people they fancy."

Adrian Pucey emerged from seemingly nowhere, plopping down in a chair to Hermione's right. She stared at him, and he grinned.

"You were asking quite loudly," he said, and Hermione's face colored.

"So I don't have to get my friends anything?" she asked.

"You might send your closest friends something small, if they're of the opposite gender," Adrian clarified. "You wouldn't send Tracey something, for example, but you might send Blaise something."

Blaise shot her a grin, while Tracey nodded knowingly.

"That makes sense," she agreed. "To acknowledge the love of a friendship, but not push it to something more."

"You'd send something fancier, like chocolate or flowers, to a _real_ valentine," Adrian told her. "You generally send chocolates to a boy. They don't care for flowers as much."

"Fair enough," Hermione sighed. "I can probably do that. It's on Saturday, right?"

"It's _this Friday_ , Hermione!" Tracey's voice was almost shrill. "How can you forget that?!"

"Because it's dumb," Hermione said, rolling her eyes and getting to her feet. "I guess I'll go figure this nonsense out."

Blaise was snickering as she left the common room, but Hermione could feel Draco's eyes tracking her as she went back to her room.

Just what was his deal, she wondered. Did he take personal offense to her not liking Valentine's Day?

She snorted. It wasn't like he was about to send her a valentine, anyway.

She began rifling through her things, her remark about Beltane forgotten.


	45. Valentine's Day

The morning of Valentine's Day dawned faint and cloudy, and noisy, the sound of chattering and giggling everywhere. Hermione was immensely glad for Potions that afternoon – Professor Snape would put a stop to that nonsense _fast_.

The Great Hall was cluttered with owls at breakfast, swooping down all over the place. Hermione watched to make sure the owl she'd sent dropped off small valentines to Harry, Ron, and Neville – she'd sent them each a chocolate frog and a small card. She did the same for all the boys in her house. There was no need to create drama when it was easy enough to avoid.

She'd also sent a gift to herself – an anonymous delivery of daffodils, that she'd snuck out and clipped from one of the student greenhouses this morning. She acted surprised at the delivery, while Tracey exclaimed over the romance of a secret admirer.

Hermione was surprised to receive _actual_ Valentines, though. Harry had sent her a box of muggle candy hearts, and Neville a box of chocolate cauldron cakes. Even Ron had sent a card, which she supposed let him off the hook for now. But the Valentines didn't just stop there.

Blaise had sent her a cupid made of chocolate, signed " _This was perfect for you. I know how much you love the symbolism of the holiday,"_ which had Hermione hitting his arm and Blaise laughing at her, her face red and embarrassed. Theo had sent her a chocolate frog (another exact gift trade), and she'd been surprised that Adrian Pucey had also sent her something – a small chocolate heart, about the size of a chocolate frog.

She was just rearranging her books in her bag to make sure she could fit everything in without crushing them when two large owls swooped down, both carrying large packages. One dropped in front of Pansy, the second in front of Hermione, just where her breakfast plate had been.

Pansy shot her a dark look, tearing into hers and exclaiming at the large box of chocolates, signed " _from a secret admirer."_ Hermione caught her glare, and she wondered if Pansy had been up to the same trick she had – she couldn't imagine anyone _actually_ fancying Pansy.

Her own gift was an enormous heart-shaped box of chocolates, bouquet of flowers, and bracelet from Anthony Goldstein. There was a card, filled with inside-jokes and teasing her, signed with a large flourish – no anonymity about it.

Hermione tucked one of the flowers in her hair, but she avoided touching the bracelet.

"This is a public setting," Hermione hissed to Millie. "What is he doing?"

Millie came closer and examined it.

"This wouldn't count as a gift of jewelry," she said. "It's made of elastic and small, cheap heart charms – steel and colored glass, I think."

"Still," Hermione said quietly. "What's he playing at, sending me this?"

Millie shrugged. "Flirting?"

"We're _twelve."_

"You never wanted to play grown-up?" Millie smirked at her. "He's probably curious what you'll do with it. I don't think he expects you to wear it."

In the end, Hermione doubled the stretchy bracelet around the bouquet to hold it together like a rubber-band, as if that was its purpose all along. Tracey and Millie were smirking as they followed Hermione back to the dorm room to stash her valentines and put her flowers in a vase.

"The cloak was enough," Tracey said. "What would Goldstein have done if you'd worn the bracelet?"

"Either had a heart attack or danced a jig," Millie said, "depending on if he was serious or not."

"Shut _up_ ," Hermione snapped. "Some of the others got jewelry."

"Victoria Vaisey did, and she's been cradle-betrothed to Terrence Higgs since forever," Millie said. "If she _didn't_ get jewelry from him, it would have been a slight."

"Plus, she's the year above us," Tracey added. "You're the only one first-year who got jewelry."

"Millie said it didn't count," Hermione said curtly. "Cheap colored glass and elastic. Doesn't count."

Tracey shrugged, smirking.

"Might not count as a courting gift," she said, "but it still sends a message, doesn't it?"

She and Millie cackled as Hermione dumped her gifts on her bed and ran back out to head toward their next class.

"Ridiculous holiday," Hermione muttered. "I'm glad all that's over with."

However, when Hermione arrived at Potions, there was a small box on her seat.

Turning over the tag, there was no indication of a sender, only the word "Hermione" written in a beautiful script on one side. Carefully looking out for Snape, Hermione opened the box.

There was a beautiful glass butterfly – a monarch butterfly, from the look of it. It was beautiful. Hermione took it out and examined it, surprised at the detail. The color seemed to shimmer almost magically in the torchlight, and, suspecting something, Hermione gently tapped it with her wand.

The butterfly seemed to come to life, fluttering around her in the air, its crystal wings catching the light and glittering. Hermione smiled despite herself, charmed. It was lovely.

After a minute or two, the butterfly landed back on the desk, and Hermione carefully put it back into the box and into a side pocket in her bag. She didn't want it getting accidentally crushed.

A few minutes later, the rest of her classmates joined her in setting up for Potions class. Theo hissed at her, demanding to know why she was smiling, but Hermione just shook her head and kept smiling.

It was a lovely gift, and perfect for her. Much better (and longer lasting) than a box of teeth-rotting chocolates.


	46. Pansy

Hermione quickly came to the conclusion that the books Quirrell had recommended to her were utterly fascinating, incredibly detailed, and very, _very_ inappropriate for her to be reading. While Snape's book had explained the basics of rituals and what they could do, Quirrell's were more about destroying your enemies from afar in terrible, traumatic ways without them ever knowing you were doing it. Hermione was shocked that the library even _had_ such books. Given their age, she wondered if they'd been legacy-ed in, somehow. If she were a librarian and had ancient, valuable books, she doubted she'd want to give them up, regardless of what they were about.

Despite the books' help, it became obvious to Hermione that a ritual would _not_ work in dealing with Pansy. Everything the books suggested was extreme and incredibly malicious. Hermione just wanted to scare Pansy and humiliate her a bit – not _kill_ her.

Pansy's barbs had been getting steadily worse. It wasn't just the insulting gift or the barbs about Muggle holidays, but the sneering remarks in the evenings had returned, and the scoffing at everything she did like she was lesser. Pansy hadn't gone so far as to flat-out call her a Muggleborn or a Mudblood, but Hermione wouldn't be surprised if she did soon – she'd certainly been hinting around it for weeks. Whatever shock and careful wariness Pansy had developed after seeing her unscathed the day after the bullying incident had long since worn off, and Hermione had had enough.

Hermione had gotten the idea to craft some sort of illusion to make Pansy's blood look like mud, and then arrange for her to get hurt somehow. Then when she was bleeding, everyone would see Pansy was bleeding, and that her blood looked like mud, and Hermione could make some sort of smart quip, and Pansy would run off crying, and her classmates would look at her with a new respect.

…It all made sense in her head, anyway.

Illusion spells were definitely _not_ something Hermione could manage, though, she'd reluctantly discovered, and she couldn't expect to for a few years. Like glamours, they required a continued use of intense magical power – much more than she had. She considered hiring the Weasley Twins to craft something for her, but that felt too much like cheating. This was an internal Slytherin matter – she needed to keep it to inside Slytherin.

It was through searching in the library, scanning the stacks of books the card catalogue had produced when she gave it the subject "blood", that Hermione came upon a possible plan. It wouldn't be as good as making Pansy's blood appear like it was mud, but it _might_ work, if she got everything to be timed right.

As Hermione considered the idea further, gnawing on a quill, it gained further merit. Even the potential problems she could see with it could be turned in her favor.

All that was left would be to master the spells, pick a time and place, and come up with her smart remark.

Hermione smirked and got to work.

* * *

Hermione chose a Tuesday morning, before Herbology, justifying that it was the most likely class where Pansy could conceivably get hurt. She'd heard from the Gryffindors that they would be pruning things, which made it even better.

Hermione awoke extra early on Tuesday, dressed herself, and stood over Pansy's bed. Pansy's face was smoothed out in her sleep; she looked innocent without her usual sneer. Hermione bit her lip, but she firmed her resolve, her mind playing back Pansy's cutting remarks. Hermione carefully whispered a spell, drawing her wand deliberately through the air, and the spell settled over Pansy. As the light dissipated, Pansy and the others were still sleeping, none of them the wiser.

She crept out of the dorm room and went to breakfast early. To her surprise, a few other students were in the Great Hall; mostly OWL and NEWT students reading over their food, but a scattering of others. Hermione recognized Mandy Brocklehurst at the Ravenclaw table, and with a quick inquiry and replied invitation, she joined her, pulling out her own book to read.

Hermione had been spending more time outside of the Slytherin common room lately, either with Harry and Neville (and Ron, sometimes), or with her Ravenclaw friends. She would occasionally meet with Tracey, Millie, and Blaise outside of Slytherin too, giving the excuse of needing some light or warmth. It didn't take a genius to know that Hermione was sick of the barbed remarks she still got from a lot of the older students, or that Pansy was wearing on Hermione's last nerve. Her Slytherin friends tactfully never mentioned it, her Gryffindor friends railed against the injustice, and her Ravenclaw friends seemed genuinely puzzled by it – why would blood matter so much, if it was obvious Hermione was smart and had magic power?

As other students slowly filtered in, Hermione stayed with her peers in Ravenclaw, many of whom were reading while eating as well. It seemed more natural than leaving and going over to the Slytherin table – and what did where someone sat matter anyway? Anthony Goldstein grinned at her as he came in, helping himself to some toast, but it wasn't until Terry Boot came in that people started conversing.

"Hermione," he said, nodding. "Fancy seeing you here."

"Good morning," Hermione returned, offering a shrug. "I didn't feel like getting my heritage insulted again this morning. I hope you don't mind."

"Never," Anthony reassured her with a smile. "We all know the Sorting Hat made a mistake with you, Hermione."

Hermione laughed and let herself blush a bit, and Anthony looked pleased.

"I've been thinking," Terry announced. "Why do people call Muggle-borns 'Mudbloods' anyway?"

Mandy gasped and shot Terry a dirty look, while Michael looked distinctly uncomfortable.

"That's rude," Mandy hissed at him. "They call them that because they're prejudiced morons."

"No, no, no," Terry said, waving his hand. "I mean the term. _Mudblood_. It's not like anyone's blood is actually made of mud, is it?"

Hermione immediately understood his point, and she tried to suppress a grin.

"You're right," she said. "It's not like anybody bleeds a different color than any other person." Hermione kept her tone natural, even as she steered the conversation. "The only people that bleed other colors are creatures or part-creatures, like trolls or giants."

"Other creatures bleed different colors?" Michael asked, raising an eyebrow.

Hermione shrugged, carefully neutral. "Some of them. It depends on the species."

"So where did the term originate, then?" Terry wanted to know. "It's got to be from somewhere."

Hermione took a backseat as the conversation continued. Anthony said he didn't know; it was probably just a combination of the start of 'Muggle-born' combined with blood. Michael Corner suggested something more unique – the muggle creation myth had muggles being made of dirt and clay. Perhaps that was the start of the term?

It was interesting being able to academically discuss the topic with everyone keeping the conversation purely academic – no grandstanding about hating Mudbloods or sneering at all. The only emotion that came into it at all was a concerned side-eye from Anthony, who had glanced at Hermione, then at Pansy, before returning to the conversation. It was all very theoretical and curious, and Hermione found herself enjoying the conversation much more than she intended.

When the time came for Herbology, the Ravenclaws and Slytherins headed down to the greenhouses together. Tracey and Millie fell into step next to Hermione, just in front of the Ravenclaws, who had gone on to discuss trolls.

"Trolls have a thicker, greenish-tinted blood," Terry said. "I think it's from copper. But I have no idea why."

"Different creatures get oxygen to their body in different ways, I think," Mandy said. "My cousin's a healer and told me. Humans' just happens to be bright red. That's all."

Hermione couldn't believe her luck. She did her best to school her face into a mask of indifference as they all filed into the greenhouse.

"Trimming today!" Professor Sprout chirped, coming into the greenhouse and clapping her hands. "Everyone take a set of trimmers, and _carefully_ prune your Ameanello plants! Be careful – the vines will have grown thorns by now!"

Hermione quickly grabbed a pair of shears, aiming for one of the newer sets. She was pleased to see Pansy got one of the older pairs, as Pansy sniffed in derision.

The class quickly settled into a rhythm, talking quietly and pruning the plants, which had grown into sprawling messes. The vines needed cut off from where they were strangling the leaves, and they were curled all around themselves. Each plant was like a tangled necklace with spikes. Hermione waited until they were maybe halfway into the class before crouching down, slipping her wand from her sleeve, and taking careful aim at Pansy.

" _Malus Fortuna._ "

Her casting proved true, and Pansy was hit with a dull sickly purple light in her calf. Hermione quickly stood and looked around – it seemed no one had noticed. Pleased, Hermione put her wand away and continued pruning her plant.

She didn't have to wait long for results.

"Ouch!"

Pansy's plant seemed to be attacking her, Hermione mused, watching from the side of her eye. Every time Pansy went to prune off a spiked vine, it seemed to move and stab her arm.

"Ouch! Ow!"

"Do be careful, dear," Professor Sprout said, coming over to worry over Pansy. "The vines can flail if you don't calm your plant down."

"Calm down a _plant_ ," Pansy hissed, after Professor Sprout had moved away. "I swear, the thing's _attacking_ me."

"It's just bad luck, Pansy," Daphne said, clipping her own plant with slow, careful movements.

"It's _not_. This stupid plant is – OWW!"

Hermione's eye flew to the scene just in time to see Pansy fall, clutching her arm. Her trimmers were on the ground next to her, one of the blades bloody – it seemed like she had cut herself.

"I'm bleeding! I'm bleeding!" Pansy yelped, furious tears clouding her eyes. "This assignment is horrid. Can't these plants fend for themselves in the wild?"

The other students gathered around Pansy, watching, and Professor Sprout hurried over.

"It's okay, dear," she told her. "We'll just fix that scratch right up."

"It's _not_ a scratch," Pansy said, upset. "I'm _wounded_. It's _bleeding._ "

"Move your hand aside, and we'll see what we're dealing with," Professor Sprout said patiently. "You're far from the first to get injured in a greenhouse."

Slowly, Pansy moved her hand aside, and there was a quiet murmur through the crowd.

Hermione objectively assessed Pansy's wound. The cut was large but mostly on the surface, the blade not having gone too deep. It wasn't too bad, but it _was_ bloody – if it weren't for magic, she'd almost certainly have a scar. Hermione watched with satisfaction as Pansy's arm continued to bleed slowly, the whispering behind her growing.

"Why's her blood so dark?"

"That's her _blood?_ "

"What's _wrong_ with her?"

Pansy, for her part, was staring in horror at her own arm. The blood staining her arm was dark – very, _very_ dark. It _was_ still her blood, unfortunately – Hermione hadn't been able to figure out how to transfigure it into mud without killing Pansy. She _had_ , however, found a spell to deoxygenate blood – and laid it as a layer over Pansy's skin. Any blood leaving Pansy's body through her skin would be stripped of its oxygen – leaving it very, very dark, and looking very, very different than the bright red color blood generally turned upon contact with the air.

It had been a complicated spell, with very precise wand movements and pronunciation, but it hadn't required that much magical power. Hermione had practiced on herself for a week until she was sure she'd had it down.

Professor Sprout herself looked rather shaken. She kept examining Pansy's wound, trying to determine the amount of the damage, but she kept getting distracted by the color.

"Does… does it usually look like this when you get hurt, Miss Parkinson?" she asked delicately.

"I don't usually get _hurt_ , Professor." Pansy sneered through her tears. "I don't generally try to cut nasty plants with rusty shears."

The class was talking now, to Hermione's satisfaction. Some were alarmed at what the plant did to Pansy, while others were more of the opinion that it was _Pansy's_ fault the blood was so dark.

"We were literally _just_ talking about this," Terry insisted to Michael. "And we all agreed that human blood is bright red."

"Maybe she's not entirely human, then," Hermione said quietly. Her voice was soft, but pitched to carry, and the other students quieted a little.

Pansy's eyes flew to Hermione, a note of terror in them, and Hermione felt a satisfaction in watching her.

"You think?" Blaise said, stepping up next to her. "It _is_ awful dark, for blood…"

"Maybe Pansy's not such a pureblood after all," Hermione murmured. "With blood like that…" she trailed off, looking resigned. "…who's to say she belongs in the Sacred 28 at all?"

There was a quiet gasp, and Hermione caught a glimpse of Daphne looking at Pansy with wide eyes, her hands over her mouth. Crabbe and Goyle both looked confused, but surprised.

"I'm sure there's nothing special about this injury," Professor Sprout snapped, helping Pansy to her feet. "Up! Up. Hospital wing for you."

"There's nothing special about her _injury_ ," Theo snorted. "There's something special about her _blood_. What she _calls_ 'blood'."

"Five points from Slytherin," Professor Sprout said curtly. "Go back to your plant trimming. Pansy, with me. I'll walk you to the castle."

They all drifted back to their plants, everyone watching Sprout help Pansy to the castle – apparently, she'd fallen on her leg in a painful way, and she was limping now.

"Normal blood doesn't look like that," Terry Boot insisted, hissing. "What's going on with her?"

"Maybe it's just… I don't know," Mandy said, looking distressed. "I mean, do we really know what blood looks like?"

"Yes, we do," Hermione said firmly. "Look."

Taking her shears, Hermione cast a sterilization charm on them, a spell she'd gotten from same medical book she'd found the deoxygenating charm in, before she dragged her shears across her arm, tearing open her skin. Those people near her gasped.

"Look," Hermione said, fighting the urge to wince at the pain. "This is normal blood."

She squeezed her arm, and bright red blood pooled on her forearm, sliding off through the crook of her elbow and dripping to the floor.

Anthony looked queasy, while Terry Boot was staring at her blood, fascinated.

"That is _sick,_ " he proclaimed.

Hermione cast _Episkey_ to heal her arm, getting it right on the second try. She wiped her arm off with a handkerchief, tucking it away in her pocket.

"Try it yourself, if you don't believe me," she said, her voice pitched to carry. "I can help you heal any cuts you get. Look at your blood… and then compare it to the 'blood' Pansy had."

Everyone looked slightly uncomfortable, but by the time Professor Sprout returned, everyone was dutifully chopping off spiked vines once more.

Hermione was quietly satisfied when Terry, Theo, Blaise, and Goyle came up to her during class, each muttering an excuse about having an accident with the clippers.

"Good show, Hermione, helping out your classmates like that – and with such an advanced spell!" Professor Sprout said, catching her healing Terry. "Ten points to Slytherin."

When class ended, Hermione hung behind as she gathered her things, listening to the excited murmurs of her classmates. Lunch was next, and Hermione was sure that the gossip would run wild.

"…Hermione?"

Hermione turned, and to her surprise, saw Daphne, who was biting her lip.

"I just… I just had to know," she admitted, holding out her hand. "Will you help?"

There was a small, straight cut on her palm, welling up with bright red blood.

Hermione hid her satisfaction.

_"Episkey."_

The cut sealed itself, and Hermione wiped off the blood from Daphne's hand. Daphne let out a shaky breath.

"Mine looked like yours," she said, almost to herself.

"And Theo's," Hermione added. "And Blaise's. And Goyle's."

Daphne looked at her, before she nodded slowly.

"Thank you," she said firmly. "It's always better to know."

She hoisted her pack up and headed up to the castle, leaving Hermione as the last one to clear out of the greenhouse, wondering what Daphne thought she now knew.


	47. The Aftermath

Over lunch, rumors were running wild. Pansy still hadn't returned from Madam Pomfrey's, and the gossip was flying.

"I'm telling you, she's a _vampire!_ " Tracey insisted, her eyes wide. "Blood that's alive isn't that color – only _dead_ blood is!"

"Dead blood?" Millie said skeptically, and Tracey blushed.

"I- I've gotten my cycle," she said. "The blood that comes out then is darker, and dead. Pansy's blood looked like that."

Tracey had gotten her period, Hermione noted absently. She still had to look into that – and probably should do it soon. If she did the math, and it turned out the optimal time to start her own had already passed…

"It's pretty clear that Pansy's part troll," Blaise said, his eyes sparkling. "Green and red would make a really dark color – they're opposites. Part green for troll, part red for human."

Hermione didn't participate in the conversation, choosing instead to focus on her food and on not letting a smile slip across her lips as she eavesdropped.

"…so of course she wouldn't tell anyone that her grandmother was actually-"

"My grandmother was a _what_ , Zabini?"

Pansy's voice cracked across the table like a whip, and the gossip stopped, everyone turning to look at Pansy.

Pansy had a large bandage over her arm, but otherwise seemed fine. Her hands were on her hips, and she was glaring. Tracey cowered slightly behind Hermione.

Blaise, to his credit, didn't flinch.

"A troll, Pansy," he told her. "We were theorizing that your grandmother was a troll."

Pansy sniffed and pushed her way onto the bench in her usual seat next to Draco.

"That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard in my life," she dismissed. "Everyone knows my grandmother."

"Your _alleged_ grandmother," Blaise baited. "It's entirely possible that your grandmother was infertile, your grandfather sired a child on a troll, and then they claimed the baby as the Parkinson heir."

Pansy shot him a nasty look, and Blaise looked triumphant.

"There is _nothing_ wrong with my blood," Pansy snapped. "After Madame Pomfrey helped me out, my blood was the normal color again."

The matron must have cast a _Finite Incantatum_ , Hermione mused. It made sense – best not to start healing spells without making sure you were dealing with a clean slate.

"Whatever weird sap was on that plant must have caused my blood to look weird, is all," Pansy sniffed.

"You cut yourself with the trimmers though, didn't you Pansy?" Hermione said quietly. "Your cut wasn't from the plant."

The table fell silent, their classmates looking between the two.

Pansy sneered at Hermione. "There must have been sap on the trimmers, then."

"How interesting," Hermione mused. She turned to Goyle. "I believe you got cut with your trimmers as well during class."

Goyle looked at her stupidly, before comprehending and nodding.

"Yeah," he agreed. "Twice."

"And what color was your blood…?"

Goyle looked at Pansy, then looked back to Hermione.

"Normal," he grunted. "Bright red. _Human._ "

Hermione let her eyes drift back over to Pansy, who was flushed with anger.

"We'll test it right now, then," Pansy challenged. "We'll both cut ourselves, Granger. We'll see who has the normal blood."

"A brave proposal," Hermione said. "However…"

She let the word linger on the air, and her classmates leaned closer.

"…you've been gone for quite a while, haven't you?" Hermione suggested. "Who's to say you haven't found some illusion to make your blood look normal?"

Pansy's face went an unflattering shade of mottled red with rage.

"It's only when it's truly unexpected that we can see the truth of what something is," Hermione continued. "That's why the Ministry does random audits, random inspections. And when your blood was randomly tested, it came up… _lacking_."

"I do not have dirty blood!" Pansy yelled.

The rest of the Slytherin table fell silent, even the 7th years looking down the table to see Pansy kneeling on her seat, glaring at Hermione.

Hermione raised her eyebrows.

"Dear me, Pansy," she said, her voice slightly mocking. "I don't believe I said a word about your blood being _dirty_. I just said it was _different_." She paused, tilting her head. "I wonder why you were thinking we thought your blood was dirty…? Guilty conscience, perhaps...?"

Pansy glared at her, before grabbing her things and angrily storming off from the lunch table. Hermione allowed a small smirk to curl at the sides of her lips – that was a forfeit in a battle of wits if there ever was one.

After Pansy left, conversation gradually returned. Theo and Blaise were discussing Pansy quietly, as were Millie, Tracey, and even Daphne. Hermione contented herself with eavesdropping and enjoying her lunch. The food tasted richer today, for some reason – sweeter, better.

As she looked up to claim a roll, her eyes met Draco's, and she paused.

Draco's eyes were boring into her. He'd clearly waited for her to look up to make eye contact. She waited, before Draco finally raised a questioning eyebrow.

Hermione raised her own eyebrow in return, allowing a small smirk to curl around her lips. Let him make of that what he would.

Draco's own eyes widened, before he jerked his head, nodding once, decisively, and returning to his own lunch and interrupting Goyle to correct him on some trivial matter.

Hermione wondered if she'd just confirmed Draco's suspicions, somehow, or if he just thought her mean. It was well known that she and Pansy didn't get along – of course Hermione would take advantage of Pansy's accident in such a way.

Still, though. Hermione got the feeling that somehow, Draco knew she was to blame for Pansy's odd blood appearance, though there was absolutely no way he could know how it had been done.


	48. The Other Math

To Hermione's delight, Pansy stopped making snide remarks at her and appeared subdued. Her friendship with Daphne even seemed strained, which Hermione enjoyed taking advantage of by talking to Daphne more and learning about her. It was interesting to hear about what one of the Sacred 28 grew up with – the deportment lessons, the dancing classes, the etiquette, on and on and on. Part of Hermione was keeping a mental list and dreading everything she'd have to learn to fit into high society, but she couldn't help but find it fascinating.

The incident at that lunch had also reminded Hermione of something; Tracey had mentioned she'd gotten her cycle, when she was describing dead blood. And Snape had said something about a witch's power growing exponentially from that point on.

It was a very tedious afternoon Hermione spent one day, plugging in different hypothetical numbers, trying to find what would be the best month to purposefully have her period between age 11 and age 17. If a witch's power began growing at 11, in a linear fashion, and then would begin growing exponentially at some point _X_ between age 11 and 17, and stop growing at age 17, at what value of _X_ was the maximum final result? It was incredibly frustrating for Hermione. She didn't know the math necessary to make an equation to solve it, and she finally went off in search of a Prefect, who directed her to Professor Vector.

Professor Vector was a tall woman with long black hair, pale skin, and red robes, and she was pleasant woman whose eyes lit up at the prospect of a puzzle. Hermione explained her dilemma, without referring to why she was trying to find this out or her ultimate goal at all – just maximizing the final result, as if a slider being adjusted, growing linearly and then exponentially. Professor Vector accepted this as completely normal, and Hermione wondered if she was the type of person who entertained herself with complicated math questions in her mind regularly.

The woman scribbled out a few equations, solving them rapidly one after the other after the other. Hermione watched, not recognizing some of the operators in the equations at all. Whatever math Professor Vector was using, Hermione wasn't able to follow, but it was interesting nonetheless.

"Arithmancy is usually used for prediction trees, but it can be used without magic for this sort of thing," Professor Vector told her. "In your 3rd year, Arithmancy is an additional course you can sign up for."

"It looks hard," Hermione admitted. "I don't know anything beyond Algebra, but I was always good at it. You can make prediction trees?"

Professor Vector nodded. "We use the math to create formulas, and then magic to help create statistics and values of real-world things, turning them into constants to plug in. The equation then gives us the likelihood of outcomes. It's used mostly for spell crafting and curse breaking."

Hermione found the idea fascinating.

The answer Professor Vector gave her was 18 – 18 months after she'd turned 11 would be the optimal time to have her period, to maximize her potential power output. Hermione counted, and quickly realized that she was in her 17th month already – with no period to speak of, and it didn't seem inclined to be coming any time soon. She thanked Professor Vector profusely, promising to sign up for her class in third year.

Hermione went up to the Ravenclaw common room to think, idly answering a riddle on her way in. She picked her favorite window seat and looked out over the grounds, her mind racing.

Could she _purposefully_ have her period early…?

This, more than anything, felt like cheating. Forcing her body to mature faster than it wanted to in order to maximize her magical potential felt akin to athletes taking performance-enhancing drugs. But still… now that she _knew_ , she couldn't _not_ do it. It would be monumentally unfair, if after everything she'd done, to end up _not_ being a powerful witch by a quirk of genetics or chance. She couldn't _not_ look into this. Not when failing here could ruin everything. Not when it would affect her for the rest of her life.

But… to _force_ her period to come?

How?

Hermione's mother had had her period come early one month, once; she always told the story with a grin. She'd been at an earthy, female-only New Age camping gathering in her twenties, and the mosquitoes had been fierce. It being a New Age gathering, the women hadn't been about to use mosquito spray, so they'd all used pennyroyal oil, rubbing it on themselves to ward off the bugs. Within two days, all of the women attending had unexpectedly gotten their period, and they had subsequently learned _all_ the effects of pennyroyal oil, in addition to repelling bugs. Her mother joked that they called it the Mass Menstruation of the Midlands, and Hermione had always giggled and declared it gross.

Hermione could owl her mother and ask for a bottle of pennyroyal oil. But… would that even _work?_ Surely pennyroyal oil would only work if she'd already _started_ her cycle? Otherwise, there'd be nothing for her uterus to expel, would there?

Hermione sighed and made a note to owl her mother just in case, but she resolved to keep looking. There had to be a better way, and she was rapidly running out of time.


	49. Asking an Adult

The better way, Hermione determined, was to ask an adult.

She'd gone to Madam Pomfrey first, who had dramatically misunderstood Hermione's careful questions about what caused a witch's first period. Hermione came away with an armful of sanitary supplies and a few pamphlets about how her body was changing and how to take care of herself during her period, but no information on how to make her period _start._

She'd considered going to Professor Snape to ask before considering the facial expression he'd had when the subject had been brought up. They'd been talking about research only he was privy to – and he'd shortly thereafter mentioned that the other secret information he had (how to fly) had been told to him by the Dark Lord. It probably wouldn't be a good idea, she decided, to tell him she wanted to forcibly start her cycle to gain more power, when that knowledge _probably_ came from a Dark source. And any magic to do with blood was dodgy – a lot of wizards classified anything to do with blood that wasn't obviously healing magic as "Dark" without a second thought.

She then considered asking Professor McGonagall, before realizing that McGonagall would want to know _why_ , which would reveal things that Hermione didn't really want to discuss. She'd probably be especially worried – Hermione had learned that blood, especially menstrual blood, had been a component in a lot of old rituals. And Hermione _liked_ Professor McGonagall. She didn't want her to think she was a Dark witch.

Which had led Hermione to this.

She sighed.

"Professor Quirrell?"

"Y-y-yes, Miss G-g-granger?"

Quirrell looked up at her as she approached his desk after class, the rest of the students filing out, chattering. She waited until they were all gone before pausing, taking a deep breath, and steadying her resolve.

"I was wondering if you knew of a way to make a young witch start her period. To start her menstruating."

The shock on Quirrell's face was obvious, his jaw going slack and his eyes large. He gaped at her for a moment, before an odd look came over his face, and his face was rapidly pulled under control, his eyes looking at her calculatingly.

"Eager, are you, Miss Granger?"

Hermione didn't quite know how to answer that one. She was absolutely _not_ eager to get her period – it sounded like a hassle she'd have to deal with the rest of her life, and if she got the choice, she'd rather not have one at all – but the magical benefits of getting it _soon_ were too real to deny.

"Academic curiosity," Hermione said, keeping her voice light. "New research shows that women who start their periods later in life are more likely to have fertility difficulties. Medicine interests me, and I wondered what could help witches with such issues."

That was a stretch – women who didn't have periods until after 16 were at a _marginally_ higher risk of such things. Hermione hoped Quirrell wasn't familiar with Muggle studies.

Quirrell was looking at her. He again raised an eyebrow.

"Miss Granger."

His voice was low, smooth, and utterly unlike Quirrell's normal voice. There was something hidden in it, something powerful, and Hermione shivered.

"Miss Granger. Tell me why you want this knowledge. Tell me _honestly_ ," he told her quietly, "and I might tell you what you wish to know."

 _He has disassociative identity disorder_ , Hermione thought faintly. _There is no way this is the Quirrell who teaches me Defense_.

Hermione swallowed hard.

"I learned that magical power grows linearly, and then exponentially, as a witch grows," she started tentatively. "I wanted-"

"Where have you heard of such knowledge?" Quirrell snapped, and Hermione froze.

"Um. Professor Snape let it slip. I was talking to him about- I think it was about exercises to increase my power, and he-"

"You are actively exercising your power to increase it?"

Hermione looked up at Quirrell, his eyes narrowed on her.

"…yes," Hermione admitted. "I want to be a very powerful witch when I grow up. The _most_ powerful, if I can pull it off."

Quirrell continued to look at her with sharp eyes. Uneasy, Hermione continued on.

"Anyway, Professor Snape said that when a witch starts her cycle, her power reserves begin to grow exponentially, instead of just linearly, and I-"

"You are in your eighteenth month?" Quirrell finished for her, his lips twisting into a disturbing smile. "You turned eleven eighteen months ago?"

Hermione stared at him.

"Ah—this is my seventeenth, actually," she said faintly. "March will be my eighteenth. I- ah- I guess you've read the research and did the math yourself-?"

"I am familiar with this research," he said, his eyes glittering at her. "Unfortunately, it was not available when I was a young wizard, or I would have availed myself of such knowledge too."

Hermione froze.

Quirrell, previously the _Muggle Studies_ teacher, was _aware_ of _secret knowledge_ Snape had gotten _directly from the Dark Lord?_

Hermione took a deep breath, steadying herself, exhaling carefully.

Hermione looked to Quirrell, trying her best to keep calm and betray nothing. She was a Slytherin, she was as emotionless as a rock, and she was unafraid. She was just asking a Professor for help with a problem, that was all. Nothing else was going on here.

"…I want to make sure I start my cycle in my eighteenth month," Hermione said. She bit her lip, looking at him. "And- you have familiarity with rituals. I wondered if there was one that you knew of that I could use?"

Quirrell looked at her, hard. Hermione fought the urge to squirm.

"There is," he said abruptly. He reached for a drawer in his desk, finally breaking eye contact, and Hermione exhaled in quiet relief. "It is not exactly intended for what you want it for, but it will work."

He pulled a slip of parchment from his desk, writing the name of a book on it and signing it.

"It will be in Chapter 8, if I remember correctly," he told her. "If anyone asks, you are doing an extra credit project on what makes hags different from humans."

Hermione didn't know the first thing about hags, but she nodded earnestly.

"Do not let others see you seeking power so openly," Quirrell warned her, his voice suddenly cold. "Ambition in Slytherin is a source of pride, but craving magical power… people will begin to whisper about you."

Hermione nodded. She considered for a moment, before letting her eyes meet his once more.

"I know. There was a reason I came to you," she admitted, her voice quiet. "I knew you'd understand."

Quirrell looked thrown by that, and Hermione felt a flash of satisfaction.

"…you were clever, in your choice, then," he said. He stood, and Hermione took the slip from him and gathered her books, recognizing her implied dismissal.

"Thank you, Professor."

"Y-y-you are welcome, Miss G-g-granger." Quirrell paused. "B-but I would get that book quickly, if I were you." His lips twisted again. "You are very literally running out of time."

Hermione would try to reassure herself later that she'd managed to walk very calmly out of the Defense classroom, but it had felt very much as if she'd given in to the urge to flee.


	50. The Dark Arts

"Professor Snape?"

Professor Snape looked up at her from his place at his desk in his office. He rolled his eyes and turned back to his marking, but it wasn't sharp enough to be a rebuke, so Hermione entered his office and closed the door behind her.

Snape continued to ignore her, but Hermione was content to look around the room, swinging her legs. She peered at the essay Snape was slashing red ink all over – about antidotes of some sort? It was hard to read the handwriting upside-down.

"…do you grade all the essays like that?" she asked.

Snape gave her a curt look.

"Are you implying I might favor the Slytherins over other houses to the point of academic dishonesty?" Snape's tone was dark.

"What? No!" Hermione exclaimed. "I mean, I've never gotten an essay back from you with that many comments all over it. I wondered if it's only something you do with the older years."

Snape continued writing, but Hermione could see his shoulders ease. "In that case, Miss Granger, the answer is 'no', but for reasons other than the ones you presume." With a flourish, he finished grading and set his quill down, his eyes meeting hers, glinting. "I grade _bad_ essays in such a manner."

"Oh." Hermione nibbled her lip. "So… if there aren't many mistakes…"

"You have few remarks on your essays, Miss Granger, because yours are well-reasoned, well-constructed, and don't have grammatical or spelling errors," Snape said dryly. "Comments on your essays are often notes for things for you to consider next time – not something your essay was _lacking_ , necessarily, but something additional on the topic you might want to incorporate in the future. In case you were in need of further references for footnotes in the future."

Hermione colored. Snape smirked.

"Your classmates, however, did not graduate from whatever essay-writing program you did, and they do not read and cite half of the library to complete their homework. _They_ get corrections marked, and comments that are more critical than constructive." Snape looked at the remaining stack of essays he had on his desk, before pinching the bridge of his nose tightly. "However, I doubt you came here to ask questions about my grading – you've been doing well in my class."

Hermione nodded. "I- ah- I wanted to ask you a potentially sensitive question."

Snape raised an eyebrow. "Yes?"

Hermione hesitated. "I tried to look this up, but I couldn't find anything firm, and I wondered if this is one of those things that's just unstated and understood in the wizarding world, that I didn't know-"

"Miss Granger, cease your needless prattling and disclaimers," Snape said, sitting back in his chair. "I will answer your question. What is it?"

Hermione bit her lip, hesitating.

"What is Dark magic?"

Snape froze. Hermione swallowed.

"I will answer your question," Snape said finally. "But first – why are you _asking_ this question?"

Hermione nodded slowly. That seemed reasonable.

"A lot of books talk about how the Dark Arts are seductive and can tempt people into sinking further and further into the Dark without realizing it," Hermione said. "I can't find any formal definition of what a 'Dark Art' _is_ , though. And if Dark Arts are seductive and tempting, how will I know what I'm supposed to avoid if I can't recognize it on sight?" She glanced up at Snape, but his face was stony, unmoving. "I mean, I can mostly look at something and think 'That's a bad thing to do; I shouldn't do that', but I don't know if there's anything _more_ to it, and at this point, unless I get a book called _Introduction to the Dark Arts_ or some other such reference from the library, I don't think I'm going to be able to _find_ a formal definition-"

Snape held up a hand, and Hermione stopped rambling. He looked at her for a long moment, before he sighed.

"Of course you would want a formal definition," he said. His voice was tired. "Just 'stay away from the Dark Arts' wouldn't be enough for you."

"How can I stay away from it if I don't know what it _is?_ " Hermione reasoned.

" _Enough_ , Miss Granger." Snape pinched the bridge of his nose. "I will tell you."

Hermione carefully hid any reaction to his concession. It wouldn't do for him to see her happy at successfully convincing him to talk to her about the Dark Arts.

Snape sat up and folded his hands in front of him on his desk. His eyes glittered.

"Are you looking for the Ministry-defined definition of what the Dark Arts are," he asked, "or what they _actually_ are?"

Hermione swallowed.

"Umm… both?"

Snape's eyes glinted, as if he'd expected her answer. "Indeed."

He stood abruptly, lifting his wand and waving it at a set of his shelves. Hermione watched in surprise as the shelves moved, shifting in front of another set, revealing a chalk board. Snape smirked at her surprise, and Hermione saw him mentally settle into lecture mode.

"There are two popular definitions of what defines the Dark Arts circulating in the public and at the Ministry," Snape said. "The first is: the Dark Arts are magic that hurts someone or that requires something other than just the caster."

The chalk scribbled across the chalkboard, and Hermione watched.

"That's…" Hermione bit her lip. "But that's _wrong._ "

Snape's eyes glinted. "Tell me why."

"A tripping jinx can hurt someone, but I don't think it counts as a Dark Art," Hermione said. "Same with cutting curses. And… summoning things like elementals isn't Dark, it's Grey. You taught me that."

Snape nodded. "Precisely so. Which brings us to the current legal definition."

He waved at the board, and Hermione read as the next definition scrawled itself across the board.

_The Dark Arts refers to any type of magic that is mainly used to cause harm to, exert control over, or even kill the victim._

Hermione looked at this definition, then to Snape, then back to the board.

"Does this definition meet with your satisfaction, Miss Granger?" he asked silkily.

Hermione tried not to fidget.

"…no, not really," she said finally. "Unless Cutting Curses and Stunning Spells are Dark Arts?"

His eyes gleamed.

"Do you think they are?"

Hermione considered.

"I think they _could_ be, if that's truly what people mean by Dark Arts," Hermione said. "Forcing your will on another person by rendering them unconscious… I can imagine that being considered Dark. But I've read that the Stunning Spell is one of the primary spells Aurors use in defense, so… I think even if it's _technically_ Dark, it can't _really_ be Dark."

Snape nodded slowly, and Hermione let go of a breath she didn't realize she'd been holding.

"You see the difficulty here," he said, waving at the board. "The truth is the Dark Arts are an ever-changing, ever mutable craft. Legal definitions cannot keep up and spell out every variation as it develops." He waved his wand, and the board cleared itself, the bookshelf sliding back into place.

"Ever-changing?" Hermione had a flash of horror, imagining some giant, dark entity secretly corrupting the world. "Are… are they _alive?_ "

"In a fashion." Snape returned to his desk and sat down. "The Dark Arts are alive, Miss Granger, in the sense that _people_ are alive."

Hermione tried to turn that over in her mind.

"The Dark Arts is a term created to explain the corruption of the soul when a person uses certain types of magic," Snape said, his voice soft. "When a person casts a spell to overcome another person, another's will, there is a flash of satisfaction, a dark sense of a flash of power. But it depends _entirely_ on the _intent_ of the person using the magic."

Hermione blinked. "It depends on the _intent?_ "

"It does." Snape sat back in his chair. "Imagine: you are in Defense your O.W.L. year, and there is a practical exercise to practice Stunning Charms on each other. Do you participate?"

"Of course." Hermione couldn't imagine herself _not_ participating in an exercise in class.

"Now: imagine a hated enemy standing atop a set of stairs, with no one else around. Would you cast a Stunning Charm now?"

"No!" Hermione gasped. "They could get a concussion and get really hurt!"

Snape raised an eyebrow. "And you are so opposed to hurting people?" His tone was slightly mocking.

Hermione flushed and looked away. Snape smirked and continued.

"The intent behind the use of the spell is what matters," he said. "If you _were_ to use the Stunning Spell in such a situation, you would discover a dark flash of satisfaction, at seeing your enemy topple, at feeling your power overcome another person. It would feel very different to you than casting the same charm in class would have felt."

" _This_ is the danger of the Dark Arts," Snape said, his black eyes holding hers. "They differ for each person. There are the obvious culprits that are nigh universal – the torture curse, the killing curse, things such as blood-boiling curses – but there are more subtle ones as well. The girl who finds it easy to cast a cutting curse at her classmate as a first year may find it easier to cast another curse, a crueler curse the next year. The memory of the dark whisper of power she felt at casting the first will tempt her to casting another, and another, and another."

Hermione's eyes were wide with horror. "So… I've…?"

"Have you?" Snape questioned, with a shrug. "Have you felt that whisper of power, tempting you? Some of your classmates have – Pansy, certainly. Young Draco and Theo as well, I daresay. It is not unusual. But the whispers of power from childish hexes and jinxes are much less than the rush of power from casting something like the Imperius curse, and less dark and tempting as a result."

Hermione wracked her brain.

"I… I cast a Bad Luck hex on Pansy," Hermione admitted. "I… think that's the closest I've come? I didn't feel a dark rush of anything, though… after my plan worked, I just felt a dark sense of satisfaction. Is that the same thing?"

"It is not, but it might be close," Snape said. "You were motivated by justified revenge, in your mind. As I said, intent and motive is everything. If you had done such a thing unprompted, I suspect you would have had a different experience with the entire thing."

She wouldn't have _done_ it unprompted, Hermione thought furiously. But… maybe that was the point. If Dark roughly equaled "bad", and she didn't do bad things…

"The best way to avoid temptation into the Dark Arts is to ask yourself a few key questions when you find yourself wondering." Snape's eyes glittered in the dim light. "First: why are you doing this thing? Second: what effects does this thing have on others? And third: if there are effects on others, do you have their consent to do such a thing?"

Hermione gnawed on her lip. "So… something like, say… doing a ritual to gain more magical power wouldn't be Dark? So long as it didn't hurt anyone else?"

Snape's eyes sharpened.

"Miss Granger, I begin to grow _alarmed_ at your quest for power at so young an age."

"I just want to grow up to be the _best_ ," Hermione objected vehemently. "If you want to be the best violinist, you practice 10,000 hours before age sixteen. If you want to be the best football player, you practice and practice and make sure you're strong and in great shape before you're old enough to play professionally. If I want to be the best witch around, why is it so absurd I'd be working toward that goal now?"

Snape's lips twisted.

"And what, exactly, do you imagine the position of 'Best Witch' looks like?"

Hermione hesitated.

"I- what?"

"Once you graduate Hogwarts, as the most powerful witch in Britain," Snape said, his eyes glittering. "What do you imagine doing with that particular accolade?"

"I-"

"Do you imagine there is a career path of "Best Witch" out there for you? Or that the Minister of Magic is chosen based on raw magical power?"

"No!" Hermione could feel her face flushing. "I just-"

"You just _what_ , Miss Granger?" Snape drawled.

Hermione drew herself up.

"I want to establish my own Great House," she said firmly.

Snape raised an eyebrow.

"And you think great personal power will help you with this goal?"

"It _has_ to," Hermione insisted. "If… If I am very powerful, and people believe that Magic itself touched me, and acknowledge me as New Blood, and if I can assemble a large enough fortune and get a stronghold of some sort…"

Snape laughed, a dark sort of amusement. Hermione shivered.

"You don't just want your place in magical society," he surmised. "You want your place in _History._ "

Hermione bit her lip, but she held her chin high.

"And if I do?" she said, managing to keep a waver out of her tone.

Snape looked down on her for a long moment, before his eyes softened slightly, and the smallest smile touched his lips.

"Then I have much less to worry about you than I feared," he told her.

Hermione blinked. "You do?"

"Miss Granger, the last person to be so determined to accumulate mass amounts of raw power was the Dark Lord himself," Snape told her, settling back in his chair. "He respected power above all else, and the desire and ambition for more of it. He tempted people to join him with promises of learning forgotten magics and forbidden powers. To see another person, so determinedly trying to become very powerful… there were certain similarities even I could not deny."

Hermione's mouth was dry. She couldn't even think to object.

"I- another Dark Lord?" she croaked.

"Dark _Lady_ , but yes, the potential was there," Snape said. " _Is_ there. A small chance, I considered, given your friendship with students in other houses, but a chance nonetheless. Knowing you are merely a perfectionist and want to maximize the gain you get from Hogwarts while you are here simply because _that is who you are_ … I am much less concerned now, I find."

"I can't believe you thought I might grow up to be a Dark Lady," Hermione repeated, moaning. "Do I seem so evil?"

Snape smirked.

"Slytherin is the house of the ambitious, Miss Granger; I watch all my snakes for signs of what they are ambitious for," he told her. "Young Malfoy wants to restore his family name and have a dynasty of power over magical Britain. Miss Parkinson wants nothing more than to become a society wife who moves and gossips in the circles of the powerful. Crabbe and Goyle just want to attach themselves to someone else powerful – they want to be powerful but are savvy enough to know that they'll never get there themselves, and they need someone else to tell them what to do. Most of your classmates only have vague goals at this point, and their ambitions will firm up as they grow up."

Hermione stared at him.

"So… what's my ambition, then?" she asked.

Snape gave her a look.

"You want to become all you can be," he said simply. "Right now, you envision that as meaning establishing your own Great House, but once you achieve that, I suspect you will find yourself not satisfied and wanting to do something more. Your goal, Miss Granger, is to reach your full potential, simply because you can."

Hermione looked at him, but Snape's face was impassive. There was no judgement on his face, no condemnation in his eyes for her being a perfectionist, no snide remarks about her being power-hungry, no further concern about her turning Dark.

"Do you think I can do it, sir?"

Snape's eyes glittered.

" _Can_ do it, perhaps. _Will_ you do it?" he said. He raised an eyebrow, and gave her a mocking shrug of his shoulders. "That remains to be seen."

"But you think it's possible?" Hermione repeated, her heart lifting. "You think it's possible? For me to found a Great House?"

Snape gave her an exasperated look.

"Are you so bereft of praise that you must plead with me for it?" he demanded. " _Yes,_ Miss Granger. If you continue on the path you have been on, you very well might change the entire Wizarding World. Is that what you so desperately needed to hear?"

His caustic words bounced right off of her, and Hermione realized she was smiling, part of herself feeling somehow reassured.

"But not if you continue to linger in my office and inhibit me doing my marking," Snape said curtly. "Then your body will be found drained in the dungeons under the lake, your blood the main component of my new ink."

Though his dismissal was a dramatic and particularly gory threat, Hermione found herself laughing as she left his office, closing the door behind her.


	51. Quidditch Worries

The weather at Hogwarts turned wet, and Hermione found herself frustrated and trapped inside. She could hardly hide behind the castle and practice flying when it was raining – it was hard _enough_ to practice with just herself. Adding water and wind would be a disastrous combination.

Hermione found herself brooding in the upper levels of the castle, thinking hard about what Snape had told her. Her memories of the older Slytherins cursing her and kicking her on the floor of the dungeons replayed themselves over and over in her mind, and Hermione had to admit to herself that she was desperate to be more powerful, to be able to protect herself. The ritual Quirrell had given her... it _seemed_ like it might be Dark, but under Snape's definition...

"I am doing this thing to gain more power," Hermione murmured to herself, watching the rain from a window. "It affects only myself, and I have my own full consent."

That settled, she endeavored to put the matter from her mind.

Hermione spent more time with Neville and Harry, helping them master the Mending Charm. Neither of them was very good at it – Neville had issues with getting the power needed for all the magical stitches needed out smoothly, instead of erratic bursts, and Harry's mends kept falling apart after a few moments. Both of them had seemed distracted as of late, though, and Hermione finally demanded one day to know why.

Harry and Neville exchanged a long glance, before Harry turned to her, resolute.

"Snape is refereeing the next Quidditch match," he told her.

Hermione raised an eyebrow. "…and?"

Harry gave her a look.

"He's going to try and kill Harry again!" Neville said, distressed, and Hermione could barely refrain from rolling her eyes.

"Snape is _not_ trying to kill Harry," she informed them. "If Snape wanted Harry dead, he would have coated his wand with a delayed-action poison while it was in the Quidditch locker room – something that would cause heart failure long after Snape made sure he was nowhere near Harry when he finally kicked it."

Harry and Neville stared at her.

"…those things exist?" Neville said faintly.

Hermione shrugged. "I don't know. Probably. And if they don't, Snape could definitely _make_ one. Snape's brilliant. He invents his own potions, you know."

"He does?" Despite himself, Harry looked impressed.

Hermione's mind went to the black and purple fire she had walked through, and how the draughts she had taken had felt like ice. "Yes, he does."

Harry still looked uneasy, and Hermione sighed.

"Look," she said, leaning forward. "Let's agree on the fact that if Snape wanted you dead, he wouldn't do it during Quidditch. It's far too obvious for Snape."

"Then why does he suddenly want to referee?" Harry wanted to know. "He's never refereed before!"

"Probably to either make sure your broom doesn't act up again, or to cheat and make calls against Gryffindor," she admitted. "Snape isn't pleased that your house showed us up the first match. I wouldn't put it past him to try and get Slytherin an edge over you however he could."

Harry and Neville grudgingly admitted that yes, it was much more plausible that Snape was just trying to cheat, not trying to kill Harry, and Hermione sat back, satisfied.

"I know you think someone's out to kill Harry," she told them, "but that person _isn't_ Snape. Start looking for other culprits, if you're insistent."

"Oh?" Harry said. He seemed almost amused. "Like who?"

"Ron," Hermione suggested immediately. "He nearly set you on fire last Charms class. Being next to him is an occupational hazard."

To her pleasure, both Harry and Neville laughed.

"Ooh, ooh, maybe it's Oliver Wood, Harry," Neville suggested. "Every time you come in from Quidditch, you look half-drowned or half-dead."

Harry laughed. "Maybe it's secretly Hagrid," he suggested, eyes alight with the game. "He's trying to choke me to death on his rock cakes."

Neville and Harry continued coming up with a list of possible culprits, the suggestions growing more and more ridiculous, while Hermione turned back to her books, an amused smile playing around her lips.

Inwardly, her mind turned back to their Defense Professor, the memory of his sudden vehemence against blood purist bullying rising in her mind, and how Harry often complained of headaches after he'd had that class.

Hermione bit her lip and pushed the matter from her mind. Hermione wasn't a betting person, but if she had to guess who might be out to kill Harry – she knew what person she'd put her money on.

* * *

Harry's worries ended up being for naught, of course – he caught the Snitch inside of five minutes, to Hermione's delighted surprise. Tracey had all but dragged her to the match, and Hermione had reluctantly conceded, expecting to lose her entire afternoon. She waited for Harry after the game to congratulate him, but he seemed distracted and had hurried off with Ron and Neville toward their common room – presumably, for a party.

With the rest of the day free, Hermione approached Blaise with a question.

"I want to put something up on the wall of my dormitory," she told him. "Do you know how I can get that to work?"

Blaise considered.

"I mean, you could always try hammering a spike into the stone, but if you could get someone to do a Sticking Charm for you, it'd probably work better," he suggested.

"Do you know how to do those?"

Blaise laughed. "That's OWL-level Charms material, Hermione. I'd ask a prefect."

Hermione did, and it was with great confusion that the 5th year prefect Jade spent half an hour with Hermione in her empty dorm sticking two giant stone crowns to the wall above her bed, one black and one white, Hermione determined to get them to set on the wall ever just so.

Hermione was thrilled when it was done, and thanked Jade profusely, who seemed mildly amused.

"Thank you ever so much!" Hermione said again, grinning. "If you need anything in return, let me know!"

Jade paused, a smile slowly curling around her lips as a glint flickered in her eyes.

"There is."

She crouched down to reach Hermione's level, lowering her voice.

"How is it that you and your classmates can look so… good?"

Hermione slowly grinned herself.

"I'll tell you," Hermione said. "But you have to keep it a secret, just between us, and maybe a few friends…"

* * *

Hermione stopped by her head of house's office later that evening, having had an idea she wanted to explore.

"A summer internship?"

"Yes," Hermione said firmly, fighting the urge to swing her legs. "Anything, really. Adrian says that we're not allowed to do magic at home over the summer, and it's been shown that if you don't use your knowledge, it simply _rots_ , and then you have to recover all you lost the next year…"

Snape rolled his eyes.

"Internships are not generally a thing sought until after OWLs, Miss Granger," he informed her. "After students have some idea of their areas of interest and strength."

Hermione made a face. "Nothing? Not even desk work? Filing?"

Snape raised an eyebrow.

"…what, exactly, would you expect from such an internship?" he asked. Hermione shrugged.

"Not much," she told him. "It'd be like a work study, I suppose. I'd help someone with their job, taking the grunt tasks that they don't want, and when they had time, they'd teach me about how they do their position. It might pay me a little, too – most internships in the Muggle world offer below minimum-wage for work studies, but they give the intern _something_."

Snape considered.

"I have a few ideas," he finally admitted. "You must realize, Miss Granger, that this is not a usual thing in our world. Especially not for witches of your age."

Hermione bit back the retort that twelve was plenty old enough to start thinking about a career.

"…I'm ambitious?" she offered instead, and she caught a glint of amusement behind Snape's eyes.

"I suppose you are," he said. "I shall make a few inquiries. I will send for you if anything pans out."

"Thank you, sir!" Hermione chirped, pleased. She launched herself from her chair and caught herself nimbly on her feet several feet away. Snape raised an eyebrow, impressed.

"Been practicing, have we, Miss Granger?" he asked. Hermione grinned.

"I can kind of glide, now, if I jump from somewhere a bit high," she told him. "I'm still working on being able to make myself rise without everything going haywire."

"That's the hardest part," Snape said, nodding. "I might advise you to practice levitating yourself in a small enclosed space. If your head is against the ceiling of an empty closet, there's not exactly anywhere for you to _go_ haywire."

Hermione left Snape's office, immensely pleased with herself.


	52. The New Moon

**CW: Disturbing content**

* * *

The new moon for March fell on a Wednesday, so Hermione and the other Slytherins were awake and at Astronomy class at midnight. The sky was an eerie, complete darkness, and Hermione shivered, her thoughts heavy with what she was about to do.

After Astronomy class was over, Hermione left the tower with the others, hid in an alcove, and waited for the others to pass, before quietly making her way back up the stairs. To her relief, Professor Sinistra was also gone, nowhere to be found. Hermione aimed a locking charm at the door, and, hands shaking, she carefully removed her materials from her bag, trying not to think too hard about what she was about to do.

The ritual she had found in the book Professor Quirrell had directed her to had _not_ been to start someone's period; it had been to cause ovulation, to help with pregnancy. It was one of the _lighter_ rituals in the book, in that it only jump-started a natural process in a woman's body. Most of the other rituals in the book were much, much darker. Hermione had read them all, her eyes large, even though she had to stomach revulsion and nausea at some of them. They were academically fascinating, though, and Hermione could begin to see common elements throughout rituals, the more rituals she read about. But they were also horrifying, and they were Dark. Very Dark. Hermione had never considered that woman might want a ritual to steal the fetus from one woman's womb to implant into her own, but there it was.

A circle was carefully drawn with chalk and gone over three times, to make sure the lines were solid, and then an exact triangle was constructed inside of the circle, each side perfectly equal. At the points of the triangle, Hermione placed three stone bowls – larger mortars that she had found in an old potions classroom in the dungeons.

Into one of the bowls, she placed orchid seeds and mistletoe berries. They symbolized the fertility she wanted to bestow upon herself, the potential of new life. Hermione felt slightly off, placing things in the bowl as if she were actually trying to have a child. But she needed this ritual to work, icky feeling or not.

Into one of the bowls went water, with a few fresh eggs set to float. Another symbol of fertility. Hermione had checked beforehand that the ritual would _only_ stimulate her ovulation – not actually cause her to fall magically pregnant. The eggs had been awkward to obtain, but Hagrid kept chickens behind his hut. He'd amenably given her a few when she asked, and he hadn't asked why she wanted them. Hermione suspected that when it came to animals and magical creatures, Hagrid didn't think to ask many questions of why.

The last bowl Hermione paused at, before very hesitantly, withdrawing what she'd had to get.

It had been this ingredient that had given her the most pause in deciding if she was really going to do this or not. Eventually, after a lot of deliberation, she'd gone ahead.

It hadn't been that hard, to find a dead rabbit, really. Dozens of students had cats that roamed the grounds. She managed to find _several_ dead rabbits on the edge of the forest, once she'd figured out how best to look.

It had taken longer to find a dead rabbit that had been pregnant, and to take the full womb from the body, still fetuses still inside of it.

Hermione hadn't wanted to do it. She had _not_ wanted to do it. It was cruel, it was barbaric, and it was _horrifying._ Harvesting dead fetuses. Even the words made her shudder.

Only… they had already been dead when she got them. She hadn't gone out and killed anything to use purposefully. Surely it was better that their energy was used, instead of left to decay into nothing?

It wasn't _that_ much different than harvesting Potion ingredients, she reasoned. They used all kind of animal-based ingredients in Potions class – eyes and claws and fangs and scales. It was easy to dismiss the implications when they were pre-prepared, stored, and dried, but surely someone had to kill the animals to harvest the parts, didn't they?

Hermione had forced herself to concentrate on her end goal as she had harvested the rabbit. Now, again, Hermione swallowed back her bile and focused very hard on what she was doing this for and put the womb with the rabbit fetuses into the last bowl. This would help her for the rest of her life. This would help her maximize her potential. She'd eaten rabbit stew before to nourish her body; was using rabbits to nurture her magic so different?

She shuddered, wiping her hands off on a towel she'd brought.

The ritual recommended a sacrifice to enhance the chances of success – generally, the blood of the father-to-be. Hermione had nixed that part of the ritual. There was nothing she wanted to sacrifice, and she was fine with _poor_ chances of conception – she just wanted the little egg _out_ and her body starting to try.

Hermione took a deep breath. She'd only been in two rituals before, and someone else had run them both – Daphne, and then Snape. And they had been simple. This was _very_ ambitious for her third ritual ever. Hermione had been a perfectionist when setting everything up – the books Quirrell had recommended for her gave many ominous warnings of just what horrors might happen if anything were to go wrong.

Carefully, Hermione lifted the edges of her robes and stepped into the middle of the triangle. She sat down, folding her legs, making sure not to touch the chalk lines. When everything was ready, she paused, took a deep breath, looked up at the dark sky, and began to chant.

The chant was… syllables. Not Latin. Possibly Old English, or Celtic words, or something older. There had been a phonetic spelling to help her learn it, and the chant wasn't long – maybe a sentence or two, repeated over and over.

As Hermione chanted, she became aware that something was happening. There was a quivering, a shaky feeling of magic, and out of the corner of her eye she saw the chalk lines light up with an unearthly pale blue light, connecting one bowl to the next to the next.

Her chant continued, Hermione taking care to keep her voice steady. She nearly gasped as she saw the berries and seeds abruptly consumed by a blue fire, but she managed to keep it together, continuing to repeat the chant, feeling the power in the circle rise as she did.

The eggs were next, gone along with the water in a flare of power, and it almost astonished Hermione that they could just _vanish_ like that, and be gone so completely, before her mind chimed in to remind her that this _was_ magic – of _course_ things could just disappear.

The power rose further, and Hermione felt herself begin to sweat.

As the last bowl lit with pale blue flame, Hermione felt a sensation of something beginning to swirl around her, as if a wind from nowhere was rising and was trapped in the triangle with her. It was uncomfortable, it was stifling, and Hermione felt _scared_ , but it wasn't as if the book had described what would happen, only to keep chanting "until the ritual is done."

She managed three more recitations of the chant before the power abruptly engulfed her, lighting up her body like a ghostly lantern, and Hermione _screamed_.

Pain like she'd never known seared through her middle as something _burst_ inside of her. Awful pressure was building, as if something was inflating that was never meant to inflate, and her organs were shifting inside of her, making room for the magic to accomplish its goal. It felt _foreign_ and _painful_ and _horrible_ , and Hermione gasped and cried out as her body betrayed her, weakening as the magic ravaged her parts.

When the pain finally faded, the blue light fading from her body as it did, Hermione was gasping, her face wet with tears, and firmly _not happy_ with the result.

She lay on the stone for several long minutes, crying helplessly, cradling her midsection, alone, under the stars.

When she had finally collected herself enough to sit up, Hermione slowly began cleaning up, wincing as she moved. She angrily shoved the three stone bowls into her bag and cleaned off the chalk with a _Ventus_ and more water for the stubborn lines. The ritual book hadn't said it would hurt so badly. Why hadn't it _warned_ her? Hermione unlocked the door and left the Astronomy tower, prepared with her excuse of losing track of time after class looking at Jupiter in case she ran into a teacher. The ritual hadn't taken _that_ long, after all. It was plausible.

But on her weak legs, aching pain still in her center, the stairs from the Astronomy tower down to the Slytherin dungeons seemed an insurmountable obstacle. She made it down one flight of stairs, then half of another before tripping and falling down the rest. Hermione lay there a long moment, breathing hard against the wall, before shakily getting to her feet once more.

Her leg muscles weren't working properly, Hermione's mind catalogued dully. They'd gone through some type of trauma, with the pain, and they were refusing to work. As were her arms, for that matter – it'd been a challenge to pull herself up on one of the railings.

So. Legs not working, arms not working, rolling down the stairs not a viable solution…

An idea slowly formed in Hermione's mind. Exhausted from the pain, Hermione was desperate enough to latch onto it.

Carefully, Hermione reached down into her power, pulling it up into herself.

She was tired, which helped – usually, her power responded much more forcefully, but she could only manage a gentle ebb now. She felt for the element of air inside of herself and called it forward too.

She was surprised when a feeling of softness came up, one that almost felt _caring_ , and carefully, Hermione focused not so much on _flying_ , as she did _gliding_ – just enough power to gently glide down the stairs.

It worked.

Holding onto the railing, Hermione leaned forward, feeling herself almost _slide_ down the stairs – only, she was standing. It was an odd feeling, the feeling of wisps of wind around her body and her power literally pushing her, but it was _working_. And somehow, Hermione felt _better_ – more _alive_ , like this, with her magic literally pulsing through her body.

She managed to make it down five staircases before her magic gave out, and she collapsed and fell down the rest of the way, yelping and crashing to the ground hard. There was sharp pain in her back and Hermione vaguely saw someone running toward her as her head slammed into the ground, and everything went dark.

* * *

The next morning, Hermione was dismissed from the hospital wing. She'd had a minor concussion that Madame Pomfrey had tutted over and healed, and she was deemed in good health. She'd escaped with only 10 points off from Slytherin – Professor McGonagall, who'd found her, had believed her claim that she'd been so tired after Astronomy that she'd literally just struggled to get back to the dungeons. She'd played on the fact that none of the Slytherins would have ever offered help, and that in her position with her Muggle heritage, she couldn't risk losing face by having to ask for assistance. Hermione suspected that the professor had also been merciful because Hermione been injured – McGonagall had seen her fall.

As she slipped into her seat at breakfast, planning on cleaning up and changing clothes before her afternoon Potions class, Hermione touched her middle almost absently, wondering. The ritual had definitely done _something_ to her. Was there a way witches could tell if they were actually ovulating? Or did they just have to wait for their periods the same way Muggles did?

Either way, the ritual had _better_ have worked. If she'd gone through all that mess and gore and pain for nothing, Hermione was going to be _furious._

Two weeks later, the day before her half birthday, Hermione woke with her underwear oddly damp. She went to the bathroom and saw her thighs streaked with blood, and she quietly celebrated her first period by herself with a fist pump and a quiet _"yesss!"_ hissed aloud. Her period had come on the day of the full moon – just as the book had said it would if she hadn't managed to conceive.

She received a bar of dark chocolate and a lotus flower in the mail that day, along with a note.

.

_Congratulations. Well done on hitting your 18_ _th_ _month precisely._

_The enclosed will help you learn more about what other useful things you can do now, should you want to learn._

_._

Hermione felt a cold shiver pass through her body. How had he _known_ she'd been successful?

Enclosed with the note was the name of a book, _Feminine Magick and Power,_ and the signature of Professor Quirrell.

When Hermione realized the book was a grimoire filled entirely with rituals and spells that involved menstrual blood, she balked and nearly gave it back to Madame Pince, before slowly putting in her bag anyway.

Just because she _read_ about something didn't mean she was going to _do_ it. It was objectively fascinating all the same.


	53. An Odd Test

It was in the library one day that Harry, Neville, and Ron approached Hermione, with caged and mixed expressions on their faces.

"Hermione, we'd like your help with something," Neville told her.

Hermione regarded them curiously.

"I can certainly try," she said. "What do you need help with?"

Harry took a deep breath.

"We want to learn about Alchemy," he told her. "What do you know about it?"

Hermione stared at them.

 _"Alchemy?"_ she said. "I- nearly nothing, really, only the legends in the Muggle world. You mean Alchemy is _real?_ " Her mind whirled with the implications. "I never knew! Let's get started at once!"

She darted to the card catalogue, pulling several cards and leading the small group off into the stacks, Ron scowling all the way. Soon, they all had books; Harry, _Great Alchemists Throughout the Ages_ , Neville _Who's Who and What's What of Alchemy,_ and Ron _So You Want to Be an Alchemist_. Hermione had claimed _An Introduction to Alchemy_ and _Basic Alchemic Principles_ for herself, and she immediately began reading.

The book was _fascinating_. Alchemy seemed to be a combination of transfiguration with rituals, ancient runes, and arithmancy to alter the molecular structure of things. Hermione found it deeply interesting and quickly lost herself in the book.

It was just before curfew when she looked up and realized that not only had the sun gone, but so had her friends. Their books had been left strewn across the table, and Hermione rolled her eyes to herself.

"Clearly not _that_ interested in Alchemy," she muttered, shelving their books before checking out her own.

* * *

It became quickly apparent to Hermione that Alchemy was not something she was going to be any good at until she had at least a couple years of Arithmancy and Ancient Runes under her belt, so it was with reluctance that she returned the Alchemy primer. Instead, she went back to the ritual books she'd checked out (and kept renewing, to Madam Pince's irritation). Rituals were simpler, and they didn't require quite such precision as it seemed Alchemy would.

Classes were still interesting, and Hermione enjoyed proving herself to her teachers and classmates. She was careful to act ever the consummate Slytherin, using Snape as an example to model herself after – not demanding attention, but always knowing the answer and providing it when asked; smirking in pleasure instead of laughing outright; and insulting others in the most cutting way.

She kept most of the insults in her head or spoke them quietly, to Tracey or Blaise, who found them funny and would insult their peers along with her. It wasn't nice, but it was fun, and it seemed to be a Slytherin pastime to lord yourself over others as somehow better.

Time seemed to speed up for Hermione. Exams and the end of the year didn't seem all that far off, and Hermione began preparing. Harry and Neville had given her horrified looks when she offered to help them prepare a review schedule, so she'd gone to the Ravenclaws, all of whom wanted to compare theirs against hers. Together, they'd agreed upon set study and review sessions, and soon Hermione was meeting up with Terry, Mandy, Michael, and Anthony with regularity. She didn't seem to get much out of the study sessions – Hermione was doing much better at memorizing and remembering magic than she had been at Muggle school (though she hadn't been a slouch there, either!). It helped alleviate her anxiety about exams, though – she could just imagine the humiliation she'd feel if she failed her tests. She'd be the laughing stock of Slytherin!

It was one such study session that she was interrupted by a Slytherin prefect – Lysander Lestrange, if she remembered his name.

"Professor Snape needs to see you in his office immediately," he informed her. He looked around their little study group, and his lip curled. " _Now."_

"I know what 'immediately' means, thanks," Hermione shot back. She packed up her bag and offered her study group an apologetic look, while they offered her one of pity as she hurried off, the prefect walking alongside her.

"Do you know what this is about?" Hermione asked the prefect.

"No idea," Lestrange said shortly. He looked down on her, a faint sneer on his face. "There's a gentleman in there with him, though. Be careful not to embarrass our House in front of the public."

Hermione drew herself up and met his eyes with a haughty look.

"I know how to conduct myself properly," she informed him. "I shan't bring dishonor upon our house."

Lysander looked momentarily surprised, then cruelly amused.

"We'll see," he told her. His eyes glinted.

He knocked on the door, and shoved Hermione through none-too-politely at Snape's cry of "Enter!" Hermione stumbled but quickly righted herself, and turned to level a glare at Lysander, but he'd already gone, the door closed behind him. Withholding a sigh, Hermione turned to her Head of House.

"You summoned me, sir?"

Snape was standing, his arms folded. Next to him was a short, wiry man with great sprouts of white hair erupting from his head. Hermione tried not to stare, but it was hard – the man reminded her of an overly-thin Albert Einstein.

"Miss Granger, this is Cadmus Vitac," Snape told her. "He is here to examine you."

Hermione's eyes widened. "…examine?"

Cadmus gave Snape a skeptical look.

"This is the girl you spoke about?" he demanded. "She's barely a slip of a girl!"

"Shut up and just give her your test," Snape said impatiently. "You'll see yourself what I spoke of soon enough."

The man scowled at Snape but moved forward nonetheless.

"This is a test that I give potential employees, Miss Granger," he told her. "I will time you. There are three parts. You may begin."

Hermione took a seat and reached for her quill, confused to see two ink pots sitting next to it. She took the familiar black and began immediately, curious what kind of test this could be.

It became quickly apparent that this was a sort of grammar test. The test demanded she identify parts of speech, define what each was, and recognize each inside a sentence. Hermione found herself smiling after a short while as she cheerfully completed the quiz – it was like a review sheet from her English Language classes, and Hermione found herself almost having fun. After diagramming a sentence in the blank bottom of the parchment (for extra credit, she told herself), she set the first page aside and turned to the next.

This one was even more straightforward – a list of common phrases and idioms, and she had to mark which was correct. Hermione found herself hesitating over some of the more obscure Wizarding ones – was it "grumbling ghosts" or "grumbling goblins"? She did know "all of a sudden" over "all of the sudden", as well as "for all intents and purposes" over "for all intensive purposes". This test was harder, and Hermione had to leave a few blank (she'd rather admit what she didn't know than guess and get it wrong), and it was with slight trepidation that Hermione moved on to the last page.

This page was an essay, and the page instructed her to correct it. As Hermione saw the start of the essay lacking a capital letter, the meaning of the second inkpot came to her in a flash, and it was with a grin that Hermione inked her quill with red. She'd always wanted to do this, ever since getting her own papers marked in red back from her primary school teacher.

She tore the essay to pieces, catching every mistake she could, including correcting the spelling of words. She marked where it should be split into different paragraphs, and she caught all the comma splices. She found herself making revision notes as she went along editing the paper, notations of "source?" and "does not follow" in the margins of the page. By the time she had finished, the page was a veritable cacophony of red and black, and Hermione was pleased with herself. It looked almost as bad as one of Ron's essays handed back from Snape.

"Time."

Hermione blinked, having forgotten there were others in the room with her as she had entered a mental Test Mode. Flushing slightly, she handed her tests over.

She watched from her seat, somewhat apprehensive, as Mr. Vitac went over her parchments, his own quill inked in blue to correct her sheets. Snape seemed supremely nonplussed and unworried as her papers were graded – he was examining his nails at the moment, projecting complete boredom. Hermione felt a thrill as Vitac turned her first page aside without having made a single mark on it – that meant she'd scored a perfect.

He stopped at her blank answers on the second sheet, though.

"You don't know these?" he asked her.

"To be honest, sir, I've never heard these expressions before," she admitted. "If you wouldn't mind teaching me the proper idioms and their meanings before you go, I'm sure I'd be able to remember them from now on."

His white bushy eyebrows rose high.

"You've never heard them before?" he demanded.

"I only entered the wizarding world in September," Hermione said uncomfortably. "These aren't sayings my classmates use."

The man shot a sharp look at Snape, who held his hands out in a gesture. The man looked at her suspiciously, taking in the green and silver stripes of her tie, before continuing on.

When he got to her third page, Hermione saw pleasant surprise flash across his face.

"You know your editing marks," he murmured. "Excellent."

Hermione watched as he read down the paper, humming to himself in a low tone, before rolling up all three papers and tucking them into his robe, where they vanished. He stood, and Hermione saw that his aggressive suspicion seemed gone.

"Severus, you were absolutely right," he told him. "I haven't seen such perfect grammar in _years."_

Snape allowed himself to smirk, and the man turned to Hermione again.

"Miss Granger, Professor Snape has told me you are looking for summer employment," he told her. He offered her a smile that was toothy and cracked. "I would like to offer you a job."

"You would?" Hermione couldn't believe it.

"I would. I work at Lleuwlynn and Sewlyn, a small publishing house in Wizarding London. I read manuscripts, edit drafts, and publish books."

Hermione had to force herself not to hyperventilate with excitement, though she suspected her eyes had a mad gleam to them.

"If you accept, I will teach you the wizarding publishing process, as well as how magical books are printed and manufactured. Most of the time, you will be doing the scut work - second copy-edits, filing, that sort of thing."

"Oh yes, that's fine!" Hermione blurted. "I would love to come and work for you!"

Cadmus chuckled and exchanged a look with Snape.

"Eager girl," he commented. "I imagine you're a voracious reader?"

"Yes, sir!"

"Then we'll have to see about approving you for a company discount on our books as well." He gave her his odd, cracked smile again. "Now, a contract?"

"I will represent Miss Granger's interests in an employment discussion," Snape said, interjecting smoothly. Cadmus looked surprised, but he shrugged.

Hermione sat in stunned silence as they bickered over things like hours, rate, and official job duties. She was hardly able to believe it. An internship at a _publishing house-!_

When they had finished, she was to earn 9 sickles an hour, with every hour worked over 35 in a week paid at double the rate. She was to work weekdays from 9-5, with an hour for lunch each day. And the company would pay for her travel expenses – in this case, a work Portkey that would take her to and from work each day. Hermione had been in a daze of happiness when she signed her contract, not bothering to read over all the responsibilities. She was sure they'd teach her everything she'd need to do the first week, anyway.

When Cadmus Vitac had left, looking quite pleased, the door had scarcely closed before Hermione had flung herself across the room to hug Snape about the waist, to his shock.

"Thank you thank you thank you thank you-!"

"Miss Granger! This is conduct most unbecoming of a Slytherin!"

Hermione didn't care, and she held on, grinning like a loon. With a resigned sigh, Snape relaxed, and lightly embraced her back.

"You are welcome, Miss Granger," he said, his voice long-suffering. "At least you are pleased."

"You couldn't have found something more perfect if you tried," Hermione said, pulling back and smiling up at him. "What made you think of it?"

Snape raised an eyebrow.

"Though you excel in your classes, you do not have many marketable skills yet, Miss Granger," he told her. "You only have a First Year's education, after all. But the one thing you do better than any other student is _read_. That, and write essays that are entirely too long."

Hermione laughed and beamed again, and Snape rolled his eyes.

"Get out of here now, before I'm sickened by your soppy smiles," he told her, handing her a copy of her employment contract. "Go inflict your emotion upon some other poor soul."

Hermione took the parchment and practically danced out of Snape's office, returning to her dorm in a daze of happiness. As she drifted down the corridor, she practically ran into Blaise and Draco, who were heading toward the common room as well.

"Hermione!" Blaise moved quickly and caught her, keeping her from falling. "Merlin, Hermione, be careful. What's got your head in the clouds?"

Hermione just smiled at him soppily for a minute, before pulling herself together a bit to properly respond.

"I'm just happy," she said decisively. "No particular reason."

Both Blaise and Draco raised their eyebrows and exchanged a glance at that one.

"Why? What are you two up to?" she asked. "It's almost curfew."

This time, the look exchanged was one of malicious glee.

"That oaf Hagrid's got a dragon in his hut," Draco said, his eyes glinting. "The egg just hatched."

Hermione's jaw dropped.

"A _dragon?_ "


	54. Norbert

It was, indeed, a dragon.

Hermione was aghast.

She'd tagged along with Harry, Ron, and Neville the next day for their visit. Hagrid's love for the tiny dragon he'd named Norbert was adorable, but vastly outclassed by Hermione's alarm.

"Hagrid, it's _illegal_ to raise a dragon like this," Ron tried again. "You could get thrown in prison if they find out."

"Aw, but I can't just let him go! He needs his mummy," Hagrid proclaimed. "You love your mummy, don'tcha, Norbert?"

Hagrid dangled a strip of raw steak in front of Norbert, who leapt and snapped it out of his hand. Hagrid laughed in delight, while the rest of them flinched at the many rows of sharp teeth the baby dragon had rapidly developed.

"Hagrid, you live in a _wooden house_ ," Hermione pointed out. "Baby dragons grow very rapidly, and they're very testy. Norbert isn't going to have enough room to grow."

Hagrid's face fell, but perked right back up.

"We'll take Norbert to the forest, when 'e's old enough," Hagrid said. "He'll love it – lotsa game to hunt and burn."

Hermione exchanged a dismayed look with Harry. Dragons preferred open plains and cliffs – places where they could stretch their wings and fly. Dragons didn't live inside forests naturally.

"We still need to worry about Malfoy," Harry told Hagrid, reminding him. "He could go to Dumbledore at any moment."

Draco Malfoy was too busy laughing over the idiocy of Hagrid to bother going to Dumbledore, Hermione knew. He and Blaise had started a pool over how long it would take until Hagrid's hut burned down. Hermione had declined to participate.

Hagrid bit his lip.

"I – I know I can't keep 'im forever, but I can't jus' dump him. He's too little. He'd die."

Harry suddenly turned to Ron.

"Charlie – your brother, Charlie. He works with dragons, right?"

Ron's eyes widened.

"Brilliant! He can take him and raise him until he can go out into the wild."

Harry turned to Hagrid. "How about it, Hagrid? He'd be safe, at a dragon preserve."

Hermione watched as Harry and Ron gradually persuaded Hagrid around, who eventually agreed that they could send an owl to Charlie to ask him to take the dragon.

That night, she reported back to her housemates what she had learned.

"They're going to ship him off to Romania?" Draco scowled. "That's no fun."

"Having a dragon around is _dangerous_ ," Blaise pointed out. "Better they get rid of it now, while it's young, before it comes and terrorizes us one day in the middle of Herbology and eats someone."

Draco grumbled, which meant Blaise had made a good point.

"This can be turned into an opportunity, though," Hermione suggested. "Hagrid is too conspicuous. Ron will have to be the one to slip the dragon to his brother, somehow."

Draco's eyes gleamed.

"Downfall to Weasley," he said, nodding.

Hermione nodded back, then blinked. When had 'downfall to Weasley' become such a reflexive response to anything remotely involving Ron?

Blaise looked thoughtful.

"He's been ignoring our taunts for a while, now," he said. "This is a good idea to get him in trouble again."

Draco clapped his hands together, malicious glee in his eyes.

"Hermione, you'll find out when the trade-off is happening?" he asked her. Hermione, reluctantly, nodded.

"You'll have to make it seem like you found out some other way," she warned. "I'm not having them accuse me of being a traitor – not when I still have to get Ron to make me cry."

"Of course," Blaise assured her. "We'll even let Potter get away and just get Weasley, if it makes you feel better."

It did make her feel better, though Draco scowled and had to be persuaded around by Blaise.

* * *

It was while her friends were waiting around for an owl from Charlie Weasley that Hermione unexpectedly received an owl herself.

 _Hermione Granger,_ the letter began.

_Hermione Granger,_

_These are loan contracts. Sign them with the enclosed quill. Then mail them back. Do this soon._

_Bloodthorne_

There was an addendum scribbled at the end.

_I have had these for a while, but it is only with some resistance in paying us back_  
_from one of the borrowers that I have felt you must sign these.  
**Do not let anyone see you use the quill**._

Hermione slipped into an empty classroom to quickly sign the contracts, hissing at the use of the blood quill. She felt a sting on her hand, as if the quill was sucking blood right out through her palm.

There were more contracts than she'd thought there would be. She'd expected three to four; she'd received nearly twenty.

No matter – she scribbled her signature several times, before an idea caught in her head, and she hurried back to her dorm.

Flipping open her trunk, Hermione pulled out her latest batch of galleons (Jade and her friends had been very happy to order from Hermione's mysterious makeup friend) in a feather-light bag. After a moment, she pulled out her prize from the obstacle course as well. If it was something valuable, better to put it somewhere where it would be safe.

 _I have signed the contracts._ Hermione wrote. _Also, please deposit these in my vault. I trust you know what to do with them. Hermione._

Hermione grinned to herself. With another 160 galleons, Bloodthorne could make another few loans. It might take a while, but the interest would surely add up.

The wretched-looking owl the Gringotts goblin had sent was still circling the Great Hall when Hermione returned, though breakfast was breaking up. It flew down at her beckoning, and Hermione tied on the parchments and bags on securely. She gave the bird a rasher of bacon and tossed it into the air, and it flew off with a defiant hoot.

"Heavy mail, Hermione?" Theo commented, lagging behind to walk with her to Potions.

Hermione shrugged, smiling. "Just taking care of some business."


	55. Draco's Dragon Plotting

On Thursday, there was news.

"I got a book that Weasley left the letter from his brother in," Draco announced, sliding onto the couch next to Blaise. His tone was gleeful. "They're sneaking it up to the Astronomy tower at midnight on Saturday."

"Sneaking a baby dragon?" Blaise snickered. "That seems like it's a recipe for disaster."

Hermione was pleased. "At least now they won't suspect me betraying them."

"We'll have to go out beforehand, to catch them in the castle properly," Draco said. "I know an alcove near the Astronomy Tower we can lurk in and wait."

" _We?"_ Blaise's tone belied his incredulity. "I think _not._ Malfoy, if we get caught by anyone except Snape, it'll easily be 50 points off."

"They'll have _two_ people out, with a _dragon_ ," Draco argued. "They'll lose _more_ points."

"That doesn't mean we shouldn't minimize the risk."

Draco turned to Hermione. "What do _you_ think?"

Hermione considered, biting her lip.

"Harry and Ron will almost definitely be the ones to go," Hermione said. "Neville is 50/50 if he goes or not – I would guess not. If there's two of them out, and two of us out, there'd be a net gain of 0. Better to send one person after the two."

Draco scowled, while Blaise nodded satisfactorily.

"Besides," Hermione said, turning to Draco. "If you're the one caught, you're much less likely than the rest of us to get in trouble. Your father has connections, and the teachers will go lighter on you because of it."

" _That,_ " Blaise said firmly, "is a damn good point."

Slowly, Draco nodded.

"I'll be the one to catch them," he agreed. "But if either of you two hear anything about their plans ahead of time, you'd better let me know."

Hermione and Blaise exchanged a glance and easily agreed.

"Now, if you're done playing with rocks, let's go plan Phase Three of Down with Weasley." Draco's tone was haughty and annoyed.

Blaise snickered, and Hermione sighed and rolled her eyes as they put away the Go set to follow Draco.

* * *

Though Hermione spent time with Harry, Neville, and Ron on Friday, none of them mentioned what the plan was with Norbert, just "that it was being taken care of." Hermione was torn between feeling angry that they wouldn't trust her because she was a Slytherin, and feeling vaguely guilty because she _would_ betray Ron to Slytherin House. Down to Weasley and all that.

It was odd how reflexive the thought came now, Hermione reflected. 'Downfall to Weasley' had become so internalized with the Slytherins, it was difficult to remember a time when they weren't all looking for opportunities to get Ron in trouble. Even she had the thought come up frequently, and most of the time, Hermione was being friendly with him, with Harry and Neville around.

On Friday, she had to visit Ron in the Hospital Wing; apparently, Norbert had bit him earlier in the week, and his hand had swollen to twice its usual size and looked green. It was looking much better, Harry assured her, but Hermione thought it still looked vaguely gangrenous. She wondered how Madam Pomfrey was treating him, when he clearly wasn't being honest about what had bitten him.

On Saturday, Ron _just_ got out of the hospital wing with the excuse of needing to study for exams, and it was _heavily_ against medical advice.

"You really shouldn't be leaving the Hospital Wing with your hand still looking like that," Hermione warned him. "It _smells_ , Ron. And it's not like you're actually going to study. Why not stay until it's healed?"

Ron and Harry exchanged a significant look, which Hermione nearly rolled her eyes at. She supposed they thought they were being subtle.

"Just don't like the Hospital Wing is all," Ron said airily. "I can't sleep well, there. The beds are crap, and I always wake up in the middle of the night when Madam Pomfrey does her rounds…"

Hermione dutifully reported to Malfoy that night in the common room after dinner.

"Their plan is still on – Ron's even gotten out of the Hospital Wing early for it," she told him. "His wound still smells from the festering – you might be able to track him by that, if nothing else."

Draco nodded, looking resolute.

"It's a Saturday night, so you know the teachers will be patrolling the castle as well as Filch. You might want to wear solid black, to help you blend into the shadows," Hermione recommended. "Take a black cloak to cover your hair with – the slightest bit of moonlight will reflect off it like a beacon."

Draco looked surprised, but then gave her a look of slow respect.

"Good thinking." He went off to get his cloak.

"This," Blaise drawled, sidling up to Hermione, "has the potential to go horribly, horribly wrong."

Hermione shrugged helplessly.

"He's determined to catch them with a dragon," she said. "We've done all we can to minimize the potential damage to Slytherin."

Draco returned with a thick black cloak, a heavy black velvet that light vanished into.

"I'll be back later," he said, donning the hood. "Wish me luck."

They both wished him well, Hermione idly wondering if there was a Good Luck charm, a kind of counter to the Bad Luck Hex she'd hit Pansy with.

Draco had wanted to get into place before curfew, leaving Blaise and Hermione to play Go in the common room for a couple hours. At 11pm, Blaise announced that he was going to bed.

"I'm exhausted, and I need my sleep, Malfoy be damned," Blaise said crossly. "I'll find out one way or another in the morning."

Hermione tried to suppress a giggle, not entirely succeeding. There was something endearing about Blaise when he was cranky like this.

Blaise gave her an odd look, and on an impulse, Hermione pressed a kiss to his cheek.

"Good night, then," she told him, smiling.

Blaise's eyes had gone wide, but he nodded at her, shooting her a smile in return as he headed off.

The common room slowly emptied, and Hermione entertained herself for a while by reading one of the forbidden ritual books, before she admitted to herself that she really shouldn't be reading such horrors right before bed. She moved to levitating herself inside the hidden guest closet by the common room entrance, which sort of worked – Snape had been right about it being easier to find her balance when she didn't have to worry about going too far up. By the time her magic was fully exhausted, the top of her head ached from the pressure of pushing against the ceiling, but Hermione felt like she'd made progress.

Draco Malfoy returned to the common room about twelve-thirty, and Hermione could immediately read the results off his face.

"McGonagall was patrolling," he said disgustedly. "I got twenty points off Slytherin and _detention_. She wouldn't listen to me when I tried to warn her about the dragon."

"They might still get caught," Hermione offered quietly. "They're not exactly quiet people, and they're carrying a _dragon_."

Draco snorted.

"They've got to have gotten a prefect to Disillusion them or something," he said. "I waited for ages, and I didn't see or hear _anything._ "

Hermione blinked. "Disillusion?"

Draco waved her off. "It's some disguise spell Aurors use all the time. I don't know much about it. I'm going to bed."

Hermione copied him and retired to her own chambers, making a mental note to look up Disillusioning. A disguise spell sounded like it'd be too good _not_ to know.


	56. Draco's Detention

The next morning, Hermione did a double-take at the giant hourglasses – Gryffindor had _plummeted_ overnight. She quietly pointed it out to Draco and Blaise, both of whom checked as well.

"They had to have gotten caught!" Draco said, barely able to contain his glee. "They lost 150 points! That means all three of them must have been docked 50 points each."

Hermione went over to the Gryffindor table after she had finished her own breakfast, where Harry, Ron, and Neville were sitting quietly and looking pale.

"What happened?" she asked. "Everyone's gossiping about it."

Haltingly, Harry told her – about the note from Charlie, about sneaking Norbert up to the highest tower, getting him off safely, but being caught by Filch on the way back and dragged to their Head of House.

"She was furious." Neville's voice quavered. "She thought Harry and Ron fed Malfoy a story about a dragon to get him out of bed and in trouble. She caught me too, but I was just trying to warn them about Malfoy…"

"At least she didn't get us with Norbert," Ron groaned, thunking his head onto the table. He looked up. "Can you imagine? We'd have been in detention until the end of the _year_ , caught with an illegal dragon…"

"Malfoy got detention and points off too," Hermione offered. "He was sulking about it this morning."

"Yeah, _twenty_ lost to _a hundred and fifty_ ," Ron snarled, and Hermione drew back, hurt.

"Shut up, Ron," Harry said shortly. "It's not Hermione's fault that we got caught."

"Yeah, especially considering we didn't even tell her," Neville said, glaring. "She could have _helped_ , you know."

Hermione got the feeling that there had been an argument about whether or not to tell her about the dragon escape plan. She found herself grateful to have not known – it would have been _hard_ to sabotage their plans without them knowing.

"Too late now," Hermione said, shrugging. She offered them an apologetic smile. "Include me in your next adventure? I know lots of spells – I can help."

Harry and Neville exchanged a glance, before Harry nodded firmly, once.

"We should have told you about this one," Harry told her. "Even though we could only sneak two of us at a time, you might have had good ideas for helping us silence our shoes or something."

Could only sneak two at a time…?

That sounded oddly specific.

* * *

With exams drawing near, Hermione was often found studying either with the Ravenclaws in their tower, her Slytherin friends in an empty classroom, or in the library with Harry, Neville, and Ron. The first group was excellent for animated and in-depth discussion and arguments, the middle group for quizzing each other, and the last group for quiet, focused self-study. Harry, Neville, and Ron had been very quiet since their nighttime adventure and getting caught with the dragon. They all seemed lost and sad.

From what Hermione could gather, her Gryffindor friends had been entirely ostracized. Even Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws seemed to be ignoring them, Neville had mentioned, which irritated Hermione – did Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff really want to see Slytherin lose the House Cup that badly? Gryffindor may have been in second, but Slytherin still had a fairly solid lead.

Their ostracization helped them focus on studying, if nothing else, which would help improve their marks.

When Draco got a note from Professor McGonagall on Friday telling him to report for detention that night, Hermione saw three similar notes being delivered to the Gryffindor table, and she again thanked her lucky stars that she hadn't been involved in the ridiculous dragon sneaking scheme.

"Report at eleven o'clock," Draco scoffed. "Get in trouble for being out after curfew, and then report at _eleven o'clock_. This seems like a grand idea."

"If you all lose points again, it'll be a 3:1 ratio," Blaise pointed out, smirking. "I'd say go for it – Hermione can make up the points for Slytherin in a day just by raising her hand."

In a gesture of solidarity, Hermione and Blaise both stayed up to wait for him – both studying for exams. The time seemed to fly by as Hermione memorized the dates of the Goblin Wars.

When Draco returned from his detention, he was nearly apoplectic with rage.

"They took us into the _forest!"_ he ranted. "The _Forbidden Forest!_ The one that's _forbidden!_ And we had to hunt for a creature that was _killing unicorns!_ "

"Killing unicorns?" Blaise looked alarmed.

"And _I saw it!_ There was a cloaked creature _drinking the unicorn's blood!_ Potter and I both saw it, and then it _charged at us_ -!"

Draco was shaking with anger. He marched over, seizing Blaise's quill.

"I am writing my father _immediately_ ," Draco snarled, grabbing a fresh sheet of parchment. "Putting children in danger for _detention_ like this is completely unacceptable. Detention should be scrubbing cauldrons or doing lines or _something_ tedious and annoying – not _risking your life_ –!"

"Harry was with you?" Hermione asked, trying to understand.

Draco looked up from his furious scribbling.

"That oaf Hagrid divided us into teams. I got put with Potter and the oaf's dog." He paused. "…there's something _wrong_ with Potter, you know. He screamed and grabbed his scar when the man charged us, instead of running. I'm pretty sure he lived, but _Merlin_ —what kind of survival instinct is that?"

Hermione began to get a bad feeling.

"I'll check back in with you later," she said. Draco waved her off, and Hermione bolted.

It was dangerous to sneak out at night, but Hermione had to know. She sprinted up eight flights of stairs as fast as she could, and she arrived panting at the Gryffindor portrait hole just as Harry, Ron, and Neville were arriving back, all three looking shaken.

"I just heard – you were attacked, Harry?" she said.

Harry's face was grim.

"Let's get inside – I'll tell you everything…"

It was a mark of how serious it was that Ron didn't even protest Hermione piling into the Gryffindor common room with them. A moment later, they were all sitting as Harry told them the tale of what had happened.

"There's only one person who would be so close to death that he needs unicorn blood," Harry said. He was pacing in front of the fire, shaking slightly. "Voldemort."

Neville "eeped" and hugged his knees to himself. Ron looked frightened.

"Snape wants the stone for Voldemort… and Voldemort's waiting in the forest… and all this time we thought Snape just wanted to get rich…"

"Stop saying the name!" Ron said in a terrified whisper. Hermione rolled her eyes.

Harry wasn't listening. He'd started talking about the centaurs who'd rescued him.

"…Bane thinks Firenze should have let Voldemort kill me… I suppose that's written in the stars as well."

" _Will you stop saying that name!"_ Ron hissed.

"So all I've got to wait for now is Snape to steal the Stone," Harry went on feverishly, "then Voldemort will be able to come and finish me off… Well, I suppose Bane'll be happy."

Hermione couldn't contain herself any longer.

"I'm sorry, but _what are you talking about?_ " she demanded. " _What_ do you think Snape is trying to steal? What is going _on?_ "

The three boys turned to look at her, and a look flashed over their faces. Harry looked vaguely guilty.

"There's a three-headed dog in the forbidden third floor corridor," he told her. "Behind it, a bunch of the teachers each designed some kind of protection, too. They're all to protect the Philosopher's Stone, which Dumbledore is protecting for Nicholas Flamel."

"You-Know-Who already tried to steal it from Gringotts, over the summer," Neville added. "Hogwarts is the safest place for it to be."

"The _Philosopher's Stone?_ " Hermione repeated dumbly. Her brain felt like it was rejecting their words.

"The big prize of alchemy," Ron said. "Creates gold, makes the elixir of life. That deal."

"That's _real?_ " Hermione said, stunned. "I- I didn't know that was more than a Muggle _story_."

"Oh, it's real, and Snape is after it," Ron said grimly.

"He's worked out all of the puzzles," Harry told her. "We heard Quirrell crying and giving in the other day, and Quirrell's was the last puzzle Snape didn't know how to get through. Now there's nothing keeping from Snape from going after the Stone."

Quirrell _crying…?_

Hermione held her head, the pieces of the puzzle finally beginning to click.

"You think that the Philosopher's Stone is hidden behind traps in the forbidden 3rd floor corridor, and that Snape is going to try and steal the Stone for Voldemort?" she summarized. She declined to even begin addressing the ridiculousness of the idea of Snape helping _Voldemort_.

"Exactly." Harry nodded fervently.

Hermione gnawed at her lip, considering.

"I don't know what you saw in the forest," she said slowly, "but Harry, everyone says Dumbledore's the only one that Voldemort was ever afraid of. With Dumbledore around, Voldemort can't come near you and won't touch you."

Ron looked bolstered by this, while Harry looked grim.

"The Philosopher's Stone..." Hermione said, careful to keep her tone neutral. "What might that look like?"

"No idea," Ron said, shrugging. "The books we found didn't exactly give a physical description, only said what it could do."

"And the Elixir of Life could help Voldemort return to power," Harry said. "He's around. I just know it. My scar's been hurting all week."

They kept talking until it was light out, discussing Voldemort, the stone, and going over the events of the detention again and again until all four of them agreed the best thing to do was stay alert and wary, but to trust Dumbledore to keep Voldemort at bay. It wasn't an easy decision for Harry to come to - Harry very much seemed like was expecting Voldemort to come after him _personally,_ which Hermione couldn't exactly refute.

Hermione waited until it was officially morning hours before heading back to her dorm, promptly collapsing on her bed, sleeping until noon, dreams of Dark Lords and odd, twisted mirrors filling her mind.


	57. Discussing the Dark Lord

Hermione could tell that Harry was still on edge about Voldemort hiding in the forest. She had no idea how he was managing his preparing for his exams; the dark circles under his eyes made it obvious he was having nightmares, and he was constantly rubbing his forehead where his scar was, as if it hurt.

Voldemort being a threat seemed to hang heavily over Harry, Ron, and Neville, seen in the bleak looks they exchanged and the shadows under their eyes. Hermione had been surprised to realize that she wasn't anywhere nearly as concerned or stressed as they were, despite believing that Voldemort might be lurking nearby. When she'd realized this, she'd quietly asked someone who she'd thought would know.

Theo had been surprised, to say the least.

"You want to know why you're not afraid of the Dark Lord?" he repeated.

Hermione winced.

"Can you keep your voice down?" she hissed. "And… not like _that_. I mean, I have a general ominous feeling about if he returned to power, but not as much stress as… other people do."

"Returned to power?" Theo raised an eyebrow. "You don't think the Dark Lord was vanquished at the Potter's that fateful night?"

Hermione bit her lip.

"That's an interesting word to use, 'vanquish'," she said. "No one ever actually says that he _died._ "

There was a silence, and Theo gave her a slow look.

"I would imagine you're talking about your Gryffindor pals, being anxious about it," he said, and Hermione nodded. Theo cleared his throat and continued. "In that instance, I'd suggest that you're only working off an abstract idea of the Dark Lord, whereas they have much more direct experience with the Dark Lord and his reign."

"Direct experience?" Hermione questioned, quizzical. "They all would have only been one year old!"

"And they would have grown up hearing the stories and seeing the scars left behind," Theo said calmly. "Weasley lost family in that time, fighting against the Dark Lord. His mother would have told their story at least once a year. Longbottom's worse – his parents were tortured into insanity after the war by crazed followers of the Dark Lord, who believed they knew where they could find their Lord."

Hermione stared.

"Tortured- into _insanity?_ " Hermione repeated. "I- I didn't know that was possible."

Theo's look was grim.

"And Potter- well, he's the worst of the lot, isn't it?" he said. "His parents, both killed in front of him. The Dark Lord, going after him specifically. If Potter thinks the Dark Lord might return, he's probably right in thinking the Dark Lord will target _him."_

Hermione swallowed, imagining.

"And then there's you," Theo said, his eyes sharpening. "New Blood or Muggle-born, you were brought up in a Muggle house all the same. You grew up with your own stories, your own dangers to worry over. You never heard the stories, never learned the fear of the name. To you, it's still conceptual, almost a cultural fear of a myth you picked up from a storybook."

"I- it's not like that."

"Isn't it?" Theo looked angry, now. "You come in here, and you want to know why you're not afraid of the Dark Lord. Do you know what that even _means?_ Do you know what _happened_ to this country at all?"

"I _do_ fear the Dark Lord!" Hermione hissed. She grabbed Theo's tie and dragged him closer, glaring into his eyes. "Look at me. _Look at me._ I know his platform. I know who he targeted. I know who he killed. Do you honestly think I don't fear the Dark Lord?"

Theo looked startled and a little scared at her vehemence. Hermione let go with a disgusted look.

"Fearing the Dark Lord isn't the same as being _afraid_ of the Dark Lord," she said. "It's more… I'm afraid of a rampaging dragon, that burns anything in its path. But I have a healthy fear of a sphinx, who is terrible, to be sure, but only cuts down the unworthy and isn't indiscriminate about the damage they cause."

Theo gave her a long look.

"You think the Dark Lord would find you worthy," he said finally. "Despite your Muggle upbringing. Despite your Muggle blood."

"New Blood," Hermione corrected.

Theo waved her off. "Whatever."

Hermione met his gaze steadily as he looked at her.

"I suppose if the Dark Lord ever returns, we'll find out if he judges you worthy or not," Theo said slowly. "It could go either way. I hope he _would_ , Hermione – but no one can predict what the Dark Lord would do."

Theo gave her a look, a look that clearly read _Do not speak of this conversation to anyone or I will kill you_ , before leaving the classroom. Hermione observed his toss of his head and shoulders, and idly wondered if he was trying for a dramatic exit like Snape made, only to have it fall drastically short without the use of a cape.

Hermione scowled after him.

"I thought the Dark Lord valued _power_ ," Hermione muttered to herself, sulky. "And if he truly values _power..._ I've got that in spades."


	58. Final Exams

Hermione was pleasantly surprised to find she was _enjoying_ her exams. The written papers weren't nearly as challenging as she had feared, and she enjoyed the chance to show off her knowledge without worrying about how she appeared to the other Slytherins. The practical exams were fun as well. Professor Flitwick had called them one by one into his class to see if they could make a pineapple tap-dance across a desk. Hermione found it easy. She paused as it reached the other side of the table, an impish smile touching her lips as Flitwick wrote in his book, a quick guess based on him being the choir teacher, and she went for it.

"Do dee doo do, do dee doo do…"

Flitwick jerked his head up sharply, recognition flaring in his eyes to Hermione's relief.

She did her best to hum as she made the pineapple tap-dance to _Singing in the Rain,_ and Flitwick laughed and clapped his hands in delight, before singing it and humming along with her – his voice much better, as the choir teacher.

By the end of it, Flitwick had stood up and roared with his applause.

"That was marvelous!" he told her. "Doing the edge of the desk for the curb! You remembered the entire number! How creative! What skill for a first year!"

"It was one of my mother's favorite movies," Hermione told him, smiling. "I must have seen it a hundred times."

"Oh, extra credit for that, Miss Granger-!" he said, writing on his scroll. "Oh, well done-!"

Not all her classes were easy to try and earn extra points for. Transfiguration, she managed to turn her mouse into a snuffbox, but points were given on how _pretty_ the snuffbox was, and _pretty_ was a subjective criterion. McGonagall had given her a rare smile at the Baroque ornamented gold snuffbox she'd managed to produce, though, so Hermione hoped she'd managed to do well.

For Potions, both Hermione and Theo brewed (independently, mind you) the more advanced version of the Forgetfulness Potion they'd done a month ago. Hermione's turned out just a shade truer than Theo's, and she shot him a smug grin as she turned in her flask, Theo rolling his eyes and grinning. Both of theirs were much clearer then the murky results of the rest of the class, and they both left the exam earlier than the rest of the students, Snape waving them off with a sigh.

The last exam was History of Magic, which was the most frustrating for Hermione. Not only was there no practical to go above and beyond on, but it was a list of questions about irrelevant historical trivia that had had to be rote memorized – there was no greater system of knowledge to link the details Binns had wanted to. She was glad that she'd felt confident at each answer, but she was frustrated that she'd had to bother at all. Surely there was more to Wizarding history than _this…_?

After exams were over, the weather was hot, so Hermione gamely tagged along to the side of the lake where the Gryffindor boys were de-stressing, with Ron and Neville trying to skip rocks, Harry sitting and rubbing his head.

"Are you okay?" Hermione asked Harry, concerned.

"I just wish I knew what it _meant_ ," Harry said, prodding at his scar.

"You could go to Madam Pomfrey," Neville suggested.

"I'm not ill," said Harry. "I think it's a warning… it means danger's coming…"

Hermione's mind flashed to Harry's encounter in the forest, and she shifted uneasily.

"Well, it's a curse scar from a Dark curse, so it might be reacting to Dark magic in the area," Hermione said slowly. "What's changed in the area that could be… Dark?"

"Hey!" Ron turned away from the lake to fix her with a piercing look.

Hermione glared back. " _What?_ "

"How do you know so much about Dark magic?" Ron demanded.

"Oh, honestly, Ronald!" Hermione threw her hands up in exasperation. "It's in our Defense Against the Dark Arts textbook! You'd know it too, if you'd ever bothered to _read your assignments!_ "

Ron flushed an unattractive mottled red. Harry was still rubbing his scar.

"It's got to be the Stone," Harry said. "It's got to be."

"Harry, the Stone's safe as long as Dumbledore's around," Ron reminded him. "Anyway, we've never had any proof Snape found out how to get past Fluffy. He nearly had his leg ripped off once; he's not going to try it again in a hurry. And Neville will play Quidditch for England before Hagrid lets Dumbledore down."

"Hey!" Neville chucked a rock at Ron, who tried to catch it and missed.

Harry nodded, but it was obvious to Hermione that he was still dwelling on it. For that matter, _she_ would probably be dwelling on someone trying to steal the Stone if she were in his place. As it was, she knew that there was absolutely no chance of the Stone being stolen from Hogwarts – not _anymore_ , at least. But Hermione wasn't about to admit _that_.

Harry abruptly jumped to his feet.

"Where're you going?" Ron asked.

"I've just thought of something," Harry said. He looked pale. "We've got to go and see Hagrid, now."

He took off, running for Hagrid's hut. The others got to their feet to chase after him.

"Don't you think it's a bit odd," said Harry, stumbling slightly as he ran, "that what Hagrid wants more than anything else in the world in a dragon, and a stranger turns up who just happens to have an egg in his pocket?"

Harry kept talking, but Hermione tuned him out as the picture crystalized in her mind. Of _course_ the dragon had been a trap for Hagrid. He'd probably told the stranger all about the dangerous creatures he'd taken care of, so he'd seem like a good dragon owner – which would have been exactly what the person would have wanted…

A quick conversation with the Hagrid confirmed Hermione's fears – and Harry's, too. Hermione tried not to betray her emotions, but Ron and Neville were clearly aghast at Hagrid's carelessness. As soon as their suspicions were confirmed, Harry took off for the entrance hall, the rest of them running after him again.

"We've got to go to Dumbledore," said Harry. "Hagrid told that stranger how to get past Fluffy, and it was either Snape or Voldemort under that cloak – it must've been easy, once he'd got Hagrid drunk. I just hope Dumbledore believes us. Firenze might back us up if Bane doesn't stop him. Where's Dumbledore's office?"

They looked around the halls, as if there would be a sign pointing them in the correct direction. It abruptly occurred to Hermione that she had no idea where Dumbledore resided, nor had she ever heard of someone being sent to see him.

"We'll just have to–" Harry started, but a voice suddenly rang across the hall.

"What are you four doing inside?"

It was Professor McGonagall, carrying a large pile of books.

"We want to see Professor Dumbledore," said Neville, rather bravely.

"See Professor Dumbledore?" Professor McGonagall repeated. The suspicion was heavy in her tone. "Why?"

"It's sort of secret," Harry said, McGonagall's nostrils flared.

"Professor Dumbledore left ten minutes ago," she said coldly. "He received an urgent owl from the Ministry of Magic and flew off for London at once."

That struck Hermione as odd. He _flew_ there, instead of _Flooed_ there? It would take hours to get to London on a broom.

She made a mental note of it to examine later.

"He's _gone?"_ Harry said frantically. " _Now?_ "

"Professor Dumbledore is a very great wizard, Potter. He has many demands on his time –"

"But this is important."

"Something you have to say is more important than the Ministry of Magic, Potter?"

"Look," Harry said, and Hermione winced at his tone, bracing herself. "Professor – it's about the Philosopher's Stone –"

The books McGonagall had been carrying tumbled from her arms.

"How do you know-?" she spluttered.

Privately, Hermione was surprised that _more_ people didn't know. She'd have expected the Weasley Twins to know at the _least_. Surely a group of first years hadn't been the only curious ones?

"Professor, I think – I _know_ – that Sn – that someone's going to try and steal the Stone. I've got to talk to Professor Dumbledore."

Hermione watched as Professor McGonagall's eyes narrowed and she shut Harry down, informing him that Professor Dumbledore would be back the next day. She told them to go outside and enjoy the sunshine…

…but, of course, Harry wasn't having any of that.

"It's tonight," said Harry, checking to make sure Professor McGonagall was out of earshot. "Snape's going through the trapdoor tonight. He's found out everything he needs, and now he's got Dumbledore out of the way. He sent that note; I bet the Ministry will get a real shock when Dumbledore shows up."

"Oh, _honestly_ , Harry," Hermione snapped. "I'll give you Voldemort, _maybe_ , but it is not going to be –"

Neville gasped, and Hermione and Harry wheeled around.

Snape was standing there.

"Good afternoon," he said smoothly.

"Good afternoon, Professor Snape," Hermione responded, bowing her head. Snape nodded in her direction slightly, his eyes fixed on the boys.

The three Gryffindors stood there, staring at him.

"You shouldn't be inside on a day like this," he said, with an odd, twisted smile.

"We were—" Harry began.

"You want to be more careful," Snape said. "Hanging around like this, people will think you're up to something. And Gryffindor really can't afford to lose any more points, can it?"

Hermione sighed and prepared herself. She was sure Harry had some sort of plan.

Harry's plan was terrible. It was basically to wander around the 3rd floor corridor guarding it, with one of them tailing Snape (despite her protestations that it _wasn't_ Snape). After a brief argument, Hermione refused to help.

"You do what you want," she informed them. "I'll meet up with you after dinner, but I am _not_ going to lurk around the castle suspiciously. It will just get you into more trouble."

Ron's eyes blazed in defiance, and Hermione flounced off.

She didn't go outside, however. There was a dark suspicion lurking in her mind.

Instead, she went to the Defense Against the Dark Arts room, knocking on the door.

"C-c-c-come in, p-please."

Hermione entered the room, seeing Professor Quirrell writing furiously on papers at the front of the desk.

"Grading exams already, Professor?" she queried, looking around idly. The classroom seemed somehow… _emptier_ , than it had before. The posters of vampires had been put away.

"G-g-got to do it s-sometime, d-d-don't I?" Quirrell said, offering her a tremulous smile. Hermione laughed, offering him a small smile in return.

"How c-can I help you, M-M-Miss G-Granger?"

Hermione paused, carefully considering how to phrase what she wanted to say.

"There are rumors that there is a curse on the Defense Against the Dark Arts position," she said slowly. "You have lasted nearly the entire year."

Professor Quirrell turned his head to look up at her. His eyes sharpened on her.

"And…?" His voice was curt.

"Just… just in case something happened to you, before the official end of the year, I wanted to thank you," she told him, struggling to not bite her lip. "I appreciate you pointing me in the direction of the ritual books you did, and helping me along the path of knowledge, not telling me to shy from it instead."

Quirrell's eyes flickered with red, and there was an odd satisfaction and pride in his eyes.

"Did you now?" he asked, and there was a sly note to his voice. It very much did _not_ sound like Quirrell. Again, the stutter was gone.

"I did," Hermione said, nodding. "And…"

In for a penny, in for a pound, she supposed.

"…and should anything abruptly happen, something sudden and unexpected, I wanted to offer my services to… help make sure your things don't fall into the wrong hands."

Quirrell looked directly at her, and Hermione held her breath. His eyes felt like they were burning hers.

"You want my spell books, if something should happen to me," he summarized.

Hermione bit her lip.

"Well, yes, but only temporarily," she admitted. "Presumably, you would have some things, being the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, that might cause concern or inquiries from Dumbledore or the Ministry. If something were to happen, I could hurry and take care of any such things for you, and then return them to you once you were better or in a safe place to have them again."

Quirrell raised an eyebrow.

"You think I might get hurt, Miss Granger?" he queried.

He was watching her carefully. Hermione took a deep breath, summoning her inner Gryffindor.

"Well, Snape _did_ get bitten at Halloween, sir," she said steadily. "Sometime the best of plans can go awry from the simplest things."

Quirrell regarded her for a long moment, before he started to laugh. It was low and dark, and his eyes sparked with malice.

"Smart girl," he purred, and Hermione shuddered. "To _know_ , and to come to _me_ , and not go to that bumbling fool…"

He reached into his desk, pulling out a large rock of obsidian. It had a rune of some sort roughly hewn into it, and there was a thick, heavy aura around it. Hermione gasped; she recognized the rune and stone from one of her books – one of the Dark ritual tomes.

"This is a traditional ward stone," he informed her, his eyes gleaming. "Do you know what this does?"

"It protects personal property," Hermione said, hesitating. "Anyone who isn't bound to the rune stone cannot enter or touch the protected property." She paused. "They're not used much anymore, since the Ministry of Magic began looking down on blood magic."

Quirrell looked at her and raised an expectant eyebrow. His face seemed almost completely different from that of her cowering DADA teacher – somehow sharper, leaner, _meaner_.

Forcing herself to stay brave, Hermione held out her hand.

The blade appeared from nowhere and slit Hermione's left palm, stinging. It hurt more than she thought it would, but then Quirrell was smearing her palm over the stone, whispering words into the stone… or was that _hissing?_

A moment later, the blood seemed to seep _into_ the stone, and the stone turned a dull red color, before returning to its normal black. Quirrell turned to her, looking satisfied.

"You understand what this means?" he told her, wiping off his knife with a handkerchief. "If something happens and I vanish, you will collect my things and hold onto them until they can be returned to _me?_ "

Hermione nodded.

"I understand, sir," she said, bowing her head.

There was a silence, and then Quirrell laughed. It was high and cold.

"Slytherin to the core, but with a streak of Gryffindor in you, aren't you?" He smirked. "You have gained my favor, if nothing else. Now go – enjoy the rest of the day." His eyes gleamed. "There might not be another one so nice for quite a while."

Hermione could tell when she was being dismissed. Nearly shaking with her bravery, Hermione managed to make it outside, get to the tree next to the lake, and collapse.

"I think I've agreed to board Lord Voldemort's things," she told a butterfly, fluttering nearby. "What do I do now?"

The butterfly didn't seem to give any indication one way or the other. With a deep sigh, Hermione sat back against the tree, tried to relax, and dozed until dinner.


	59. The Third Floor Corridor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Illustration by the extremely talented Ivar Yves. Check out her work at https://www.instagram.com/IvarYves/ <3

After dinner, Hermione met back up with Harry, Neville, and Ron in the Gryffindor Common Room. The afternoon had not gone well for them.

"McGonagall threatened to take more points off if she caught us near the third floor corridor again," Harry said. "Took offense that we thought we were stronger than all the protections that were already on the Stone…"

"Snape kept turning up, too," Ron said grimly. "Slimy git can't wait to get his hands on it…"

"Dumbledore is still away at the Ministry," Neville added. "I asked Professor Sprout if he'd be back in time for the year-ending feast, and she told me."

There was a tense silence.

"Well, that's it then, isn't it?" Harry said.

Hermione turned to look at him. He looked pale, and his eyes were glittering.

"I'm going out of here tonight and I'm going to try to get to the Stone first."

"You're mad!" Ron exclaimed.

Hermione opened her mouth, before pausing, then deliberately closing her mouth. Harry's jaw was set, and defiance was flaming in his eyes. Nothing she said – _nothing_ – was going to reach him now.

And she wasn't about to appeal to his sense of logic and rationality when it was clear all such reasoning ability was gone.

"You're serious?" Hermione said, staring at him in disbelief. "You're seriously going to _go through the traps_ instead of waiting for a teacher to deal with it?"

"Snape already knows how to get through all the traps!" Harry's eyes flashed. "We have to follow him and hold him off. If Voldemort gets the stone… well…"

Not for the first time since she had heard the news, Hermione felt a twinge of guilt. The stone was safe at Gringotts, and so far, no one knew she'd replaced it with a fake. Oddly, Hermione felt a sense of disappointment. She'd been genuinely excited to win the obstacle course.

Biting her lip, Hermione considered her options. If she admitted she had the stone, when it _wasn't_ supposed to be a prize for beating the obstacle course, she could possibly get charged with theft. She wasn't entirely sure how the legal system worked in the Wizarding World, but she imagined it wouldn't be to her advantage to learn that for the first time as a defendant.

The safest option for her was to act as if she had no other information about the stone, and as if she, too, thought Voldemort was after it. Them going after it might even help secure the veracity of the stone in Voldemort's mind.

And if she _didn't_ go with them, they'd likely get themselves killed.

"Fine," Hermione said, rolling her eyes. "Let me get my pack, and we'll head out from here at curfew."

The three stared at her.

"…you're coming with us?" Ron said dubiously.

"Of course. You promised I could come on the next adventure. And besides," she said, folding her arms, "you'll probably get yourselves killed without me."

Harry and Neville exchanged a look, before nodding.

"Get whatever you need to," Harry told her. "Make sure you're back up here before curfew."

Hermione's dungeoneering pack sat undisturbed under her bed, unused since January. She changed into her black denims and a long-sleeved black shirt as well – after all, they _were_ going to be creeping about the school at night. She cast a glance up at the heavy stone crowns before slinging the bag over her shoulders and leaving without them. She doubted she'd be able to get a free pass through the chess game, even if she _did_ have the white crown.

The wait for nightfall was intense. Ron and Neville attempted to play gobstones while Harry paced, and Hermione sat curled up in a chair with a book, considering everything that could go wrong while they waited. Biting her lip, she discreetly penned a letter to Snape, detailing Harry's ridiculous plan, how she was sure it was Quirrell they were actually going to find, but how she felt obligated to go along to keep him alive. She also made sure to mention that the only reason they were going on this insane quest was because McGonagall didn't trust her own House members; the fact that she was writing Snape a letter was clear evidence that Slytherin worked to the contrary.

She put it in an envelope, marked it clearly "Severus Snape" on the envelope, and sealed it. She'd drop it in the hallway as they left, and Filch and Mrs. Norris would find it for sure.

When the time came, Harry stood.

"All right," he said. He looked at them all and winced. "This is going to be a _tight_ fit."

"A tight fit…?" Hermione questioned, and Harry withdrew a cloak out of nowhere.

As he settled it about his body, Hermione gasped.

"That's – you have an _invisibility cloak?_ "

"Don't tell anyone," Ron warned, but Hermione was still gaping.

"Where- how did you-"

"Family heirloom," Harry said shortly. "Can we go now?"

In order to fit them all, they'd had to condense as much as possible. Hermione ended up on Harry's back, piggy-back style, and Neville on Ron's, who was whining about the extra weight, but shut up when Harry offered to trade partners.

They crept slowly down the hallways, as quietly as possible. Hermione discreetly dropped her letter when they heard Filch creeping around nearby, though they didn't run into him directly.

When they got to the 3rd floor corridor, the door was unlocked already.

"Snape's already inside," Harry said grimly, and Hermione rolled her eyes.

Harry had a roughly-hewn wooden flute that he began playing as he opened the door, and despite his lack of skill, Hermione was pleased to see the Cerberus' eyes droop almost immediately. Hermione stashed the cloak in her bag while Ron and Neville went over to the trap door and opened it, and to Hermione's horror, jumped immediately inside.

"What on earth-?! Oh Merlin…"

Hermione crossed her fingers that Neville would be able to recognize the Devil's Snare quickly. She gestured for Harry to jump first, before she followed him quickly, slamming the trap door closed behind her.

The soft thump of her landing had her already prepared, blasting through the plant around her with _Incendio_ as a matter of course. Neville had at least recognized the plant and was doing his best to escape, but Ron was tangled quite tightly, the plant constricting his chest.

"Fight it with fire," Hermione cried out to them, falling through the plant herself.

She quickly regained her feet. Looking up through the plant, she aimed at where Harry was.

_"Incendio!"_

Harry fell through shortly, to Hermione's relief, and Hermione moved on to Neville. From the sound of it, Neville was struggling to keep both himself and Ron from being strangled, as Ron couldn't get to his wand. It was brave, but ultimately foolish, in Hermione's opinion.

With Harry's help, soon both boys were falling free, Ron coughing as he hit the ground hard.

"Thank Merlin you're brilliant at Herbology, Neville," he managed to get out. "Otherwise that plant would have strangled the both of us alive."

Harry cast a sideways glance at Hermione, who ignored it.

"Let's keep going," Harry said resolutely, and they all followed him as he opened the next door.

The room was filled with dozens of glittering, winged keys. Hermione watched them as Harry looked up in awe.

"They're- they're keys! And look!"

He gestured to the brooms, and Neville went pale.

"We have to catch the right one…"

"But there are dozens of them!" Ron looked uneasy.

"Look! There, the silver one, with the blue wings. One of the wings is slightly bent! We'll catch that one!"

"Or," Hermione said, as the final _click_ of the tumbler slid into place, and she opened the door, "we can just keep going instead."

There was a silence.

"Is that a lock picking set?" Harry asked.

Hermione shrugged. "Does it matter if it is?"

There was a pause.

"No," Harry said finally. "Let's go."

Hermione let out a breath of relief as she slid the lock picking set back into her pack, and they all piled through the doorway.

As the sconces lit, Ron's face came alive.

"Chess…" he breathed.

Hermione bit her lip, reluctant to admit it, but she was grateful Ron was with them. At least, for this.

"We have to play our way across," he said. He looked at the pieces, nodding. "Okay. Harry, you take the king's side bishop. Neville, you take that castle. Hermione-"

"Hermione will be taking the king," Hermione interrupted smoothly, holding her hand out expectantly to the large stone figure. The piece wordlessly handed over his crown, and Hermione set about securing it to her head through some intricate braids.

"I was going to give you the queen," Ron objected.

"Nope. King." Hermione was defiant.

"What are you going to be, Ron?" Harry said quickly.

"Me? I'll be a knight…"

The chess game was close, Hermione could tell. It was just as terrifying as the first time she'd done it – perhaps even more so, with the danger of her friends being hurt.

When the white queen turned her blank face towards Ron, Hermione winced, and Harry caught her expression.

"What-?"

"It's okay," Ron said, though he'd gone pale. "I have to. After this, Harry, you'll be free to checkmate the king."

"You can't sacrifice yourself!" Neville's knees were trembling, but he stayed on his square. "You can't!"

"Do you want to stop Snape or not?" Ron demanded. There was a silence, and Ron nodded once, decisive. "That's what I thought."

Ron moved slowly into place, bracing himself for the impact. The white queen slid over and struck him hard, her marble arm crashing into his head and sending him across the room with a yell to hit the wall hard, where he dropped down, out cold. The horse he'd been on lay in shambles on the board, destroyed.

Hermione winced, while Neville screamed.

"Harry," Hermione said sharply. "Your move. Finish this."

Looking sick to his stomach, Harry moved across the board, shaking.

"Checkmate…?"

It sounded like a question.

The white king threw its stone crown at Harry's feet, and Harry grabbed it before they all rushed over to Ron in relief.

"He's unconscious," Hermione said, checking him over. "He needs Madam Pomfrey – bad."

Harry looked grim. "There isn't time. We'll have to leave him."

"Absolutely not," Hermione snapped. She turned to Neville. "Neville, take Ron to Madam Pomfrey. I'll get Harry through the rest of the obstacles."

"You two? Alone?" Neville looked doubtful, and Hermione drew herself up.

"Neville," she said. "We can't let Voldemort win in any way – and that includes making us leave our friends behind. Ron might have a serious concussion, and I can't carry him. He needs medical help, and you're the only one to do it. We need you right now."

Neville's eyes flashed, and he straightened himself.

"Right," he said, nodding decisively. "I can do this. Not every soldier in a war is on the front lines, but everyone contributes to the win."

It sounded almost like he was quoting something, something she didn't recognize. Hermione blinked, but nodded anyway. "Exactly."

Harry helped Ron up onto Neville's shoulders, while Hermione cast the best Feather-light charm on Ron's body she could, knowing Neville wouldn't be able to maintain a _Locomotor Mortis_ charm with his agitated state.

As Neville set off, Hermione turned to Harry.

"Ready?" she said simply.

Harry gave her a look and nodded silently.

Hermione crept over to the next door, peeking around it, before sighing in relief.

"We're good," she said. "Let's go."

They walked quietly past a large troll, which seemed to have been knocked out. The room stank of troll blood.

"We need to go over this next threshold together," Hermione said. "Take my arm. Ready? On three…"

They stepped carefully over the threshold, purple fire erupting in the doorway behind them, black fire blocking their way forward.

"What is this…?" Harry said, looking at the bottles. "Snape's puzzle…?"

"It's a logic puzzle," Hermione said, her eyes scanning the scroll for any changes. There were none. "Take the smallest bottle, Harry – it'll get you through to the final room. That's where…" she hesitated. "That's where Voldemort's servant will be."

Harry picked up the smallest bottle, but instead of taking it, he turned to her.

"How do you know it's the final room?" he asked.

Hermione kept a carefully blank expression as she shrugged.

"All the other teachers have had their puzzle," she said. "All that's left is Dumbledore's."

Harry's face was stone.

"You knew about the Devil's Snare," he told her. "You _knew_ about the Flying Keys room – you had those lock picks at the ready. And you knew about this room, and the next – you've _been_ through this before, haven't you?"

Hermione winced.

"Look," Hermione said quietly. "Yes, I have. I thought it was an obstacle course – a scholastic challenge. I wanted to beat it."

Harry looked disbelieving, but Hermione went on.

"When I got here, there were so many fantastic things – was a school-wide challenge really that out of the realm of possibility?" Hermione was flustered, waving a hand as she spoke rapidly. "When a first-year spell could open the door, and the corridor wasn't even warded? I thought it was a challenge. I thought it was an extra-credit obstacle course – a competition. And I like to _win_."

Harry started to grin, and Hermione blushed.

"You _would_ ," he said with amusement. Hermione rolled her eyes but smirked.

"The next room is the last," she said seriously. "There's a mirror in there – a fancy one with odd writing around the frame. It shows weird things."

Harry's eyes flared with recognition, and Hermione felt her own suspicions confirm.

"I don't think I can follow you," Hermione said quietly. "Good luck."

Harry stood up straight, resolute. "Right."

He drained the small bottle and stepped through the flames, and Hermione sighed, before drinking from the round bottle and returning to the troll room.

The troll smelled _awful_ , and Hermione took her time to stop and examine it this time, curious. It seemed like the troll had been knocked out by severe head trauma, somehow. Had someone conjured a tree trunk to bash its head in? She glanced around, idly wondering if it was its own club that had done it.

The troll looked like it wasn't about to get up again, so Hermione settled in to wait. After a minute or so, she saw the purple flames die down, and after a moment's thought, she got up and went back into the potion room. The flames sprung back up, but Hermione ignored them, focusing instead on grabbing the small potion bottle.

She still seemed able to get through the purple flames herself. She returned to the troll room again, setting down the bottle, before going back to the room twice more after the flames dies down each time.

It was just as she had returned from her third trip that she could hear footsteps charging towards her. She straightened, dusting off her robes, and picked up the small bottles.

A moment later, Professor Dumbledore rounded the corner, followed closely by Professor Snape. They both skidded to a halt when they saw her, and Hermione nodded respectfully.

"Harry's in the last chamber," she told them, offering them each a small bottle. "He's been in there for over five minutes, but under ten. I'd hurry."

Professor Dumbledore's eyes twinkled, and he took one of the bottles and downed it cheerfully, before running towards the potion chamber himself. He seemed to be a man on a mission; his eyes had barely registered Hermione before he'd moved on.

Snape stood there a moment longer, regarding her carefully.

"You were prepared for us to come through here, so you stockpiled these?" he questioned her.

Hermione shrugged. "For _someone_ to come through – you, McGonagall, Dumbledore, hell, even _Hagrid_ – who _knows_ who Weasley and Neville would have called for help?"

Snape's lips twitched as if he wanted to smile.

"Thank you," he said, drinking the potion. He shuddered, then gave her a curt look. "You should get out of here."

"I should," agreed Hermione amicably, turning towards the chess room. "Good luck, sir," she added.

Snape nodded once, then took after Dumbledore. Hermione watched him vanish behind brilliant violet flames, before heading back through the chess room.

She'd done her job, getting Harry help to make sure he survived the encounter. Hermione wasn't about to stick around near an unconscious _troll_ when there were finally adults around to take care of things, to say nothing of _Voldemort_ facing off with Harry in the next room.

She rather thought he'd be none too pleased with her if he learned she'd been helping Harry.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Illustration by the extremely talented Ivar Yves. Check out her work at https://www.instagram.com/IvarYves/ <3


	60. Telling a Tale

"And the stone's gone?" Ron said again.

Harry nodded. "It _shattered_ , when Voldemort made Quirrell come after me for it. Quirrell grabbed me, his skin started burning, and the stone _shattered_. I'm lucky I didn't get stone shards stuck in my hands. Dumbledore said it probably had to do with whatever Dark magic Quirrell was about to use targeting the stone instead of me."

Harry started telling them about his mother's protection somehow protecting him, and Hermione tuned him out. She'd heard all this before; she'd eavesdropped when Dumbledore came to visit Harry in the Hospital Wing. If Dumbledore had known she was under Harry's cloak, he hadn't let on.

"Are you going to be okay, though?" Neville asked, looking unsure.

"I'll be fine," Harry said, offering them a grin. "Madame Pomfrey just wants to make sure I don't over-exhaust myself. I scared her a lot, I think."

"How soon?" Ron wanted to know. "Last Quidditch match is tomorrow."

Harry looked uneasy. "I…"

Hermione winced. Harry had escaped a lot of the worst of what could have happened, protected by Dumbledore's timely arrival and Snape's quick battleground triage, but to play Quidditch so soon after his injury?

"It's a miracle he's not still unconscious, after what he went through," Madame Pomfrey snapped, bustling into the room. She set several potions down on Harry's nightstand. "He's in no shape to play Quidditch."

"But it's the last game of the season!" Ron objected. "And Gryffindor doesn't have a reserve Seeker!"

"Gryffindor will just have to do without," Madame Pomfrey said coolly. She turned to Harry. "Drink these. Then all of you, out! Mister Potter here needs his _rest_."

"I'm not tired," Harry objected, but Hermione smiled and shook her head. She could see the strain in his face as he tried not to yawn.

"You may visit again tomorrow," Madame Pomfrey informed them, " _if_ Harry is feeling up to it."

Hermione and Neville stood and thanked her, while Ron glared at her departing back, sulking.

"Feel better, Harry," Hermione said, resting a hand on his for a moment. She offered him a soft smile, and Harry looked surprised. "Take care."

They left the Hospital Wing. It was only just past the doors that Ron turned to Neville, earnest.

"We have to do _something_ ," he said. "Gryffindor will lose the match without Harry!"

"We could tell Wood?" Neville offered. "After all, he's the captain."

They took off for the Gryffindor common room, Neville waving goodbye as they ran off, and Hermione shook her head to herself, bemused, as she descended into the cool of dungeons.

Most of the Slytherins were there, taking refuge from the abrupt heat spell in the cool under the lake. Some of them glanced up as she entered, and there was a murmur as they recognized who it was.

" _Hermione_ ," someone breathed in relief, and suddenly, her classmates were around her.

"What _happened?_ "

"The Gryffindors are saying you _killed Quirrell!_ "

"What happened to Potter?"

"Snape won't tell us _anything!_ " This last was whined by Tracey.

Hermione looked at her friend. "What makes you think something happened at all?"

"The teachers have been going in and out of the third-floor corridor all day, emptying it of weird things and guarding the hallway from us," Theo said. "The older students are saying it reeks of Dark magic. On top of that, Quirrell was just _gone_ , along with Potter, Longbottom, Weasley, and _you_."

"So if anyone knows what's going on, it'll be you," Tracey said expectantly. "So. Spill."

Hermione's lips twitched, and she grinned.

"Okay, I'll tell you all," she said. "I'll tell you what actually happened. Merlin knows the Gryffindors are probably getting all the details wrong."

She sat, and her classmates (and a lot of others) sat around her, giving her their undivided attention.

Hermione smiled. This was kind of nice.

She started at the beginning, or as close as she could – with Harry's suspicion that the Philosopher's Stone was hidden in the school, and his utter conviction that Snape was after it.

It was fun to tell the story. The Slytherins hissed every time she mentioned the Gryffindors' suspicion of Snape, and they looked like they were sitting on tenterhooks when she described the decision that they would go in after Voldemort to get the stone themselves.

"That was dumb," Adrian Pucey commented, folding his arms. "Potter seriously thought he could beat Snape?"

"I don't think he was thinking very clearly at all," Hermione said, shrugging. "He probably thought it was a suicide mission, but he didn't really think he had another option."

"Did _you?_ " Draco asked. His eyes were piercing.

Hermione snorted. "Do you really think I'd have gone along if I thought it was a suicide run?"

She detailed each of the challenges facing them as the group had made their way to the stone. She took her time, telling the tale more as a _story_ , rather than just a factual list of the order of events. Her audience gasped and groaned at the revelation of Hagrid's mad three-headed dog, and she got several approving murmurs from her quick handling of the Devil's Snare.

The next room caused some difficulty.

"Wait, you used _what?_ " Pansy wanted to know.

"Lock picks," Hermione repeated patiently. "They're a muggle tool used to manually open locks."

"Why did you even _have_ lock picks?" Pansy asked, making a face. "With _Alohomora_ , it's not like any wizard would even _need_ them."

"Except we _did_ , didn't we?" Hermione said coolly. "The door and its lock were spelled to resist magic. Not Muggle tools."

"Bet Weasley was disappointed he didn't have an excuse to fly around on a broom," Daphne said, snickering, and several others snickered around her. Theo, however, was giving her a considering look.

Hermione continued, describing the chess room board, how the pieces came to life, and how they had had to play their way across the board. Blaise's head had come up, his ears almost visibly twitching at the mention of a giant chessboard, and Hermione didn't much care for the look of the slowly-growing smirk on his face as she finished describing the room, saying how Ron had gotten captured, reiterating how glad she'd been that she'd taken the place of the king.

"A giant magic chess set," he murmured. "You don't say…"

She told them how she'd ordered Neville off with Ron to the Hospital Wing, continuing with Harry on her own. How the troll had been knocked out and bleeding, and how they'd gotten to Snape's room together, and the puzzle he'd left. There were appreciative murmurs at Snape's puzzle, and nods when Hermione said that she'd solved it, which unexpectedly bolstered her – no one seemed to be questioning that she was smart enough to solve his puzzle.

She explained how she'd sent Harry ahead to the last room to face Quirrell, how she'd gone back to the troll room to wait for help, and how she'd given Dumbledore and Snape the small potions she'd gathered when they'd come charging through minutes later.

Hermione then detailed what had happened between Harry and Quirrell before Dumbledore had gotten there, taking particular delight in the horrified gasps when she described Quirrell revealing Voldemort on the back of his head.

"So You-Know-Who really _is_ still alive?" Millie said, looking worried.

"He's like a shade right now," Hermione said. "A wandering spirit. But yes, he's alive." She turned grim. "If he manages to get another body, a real one of his own, not one he's slowly rotting through possession, then there will be problems. But for right now… there's time, yet, before…"

She trailed off, looking out at her crowd. Some of her classmates had fierce glints in their eyes, but more of them looked somber.

Hermione cleared her throat.

The end of the story was quick, but dramatic – Harry finding the stone (she couldn't _believe_ the mirror had worked _exactly the same_ with the duplicate stone as it had with the real one), Quirrell attacking him, Quirrell's body burning and decaying to ash where he touched Harry, and the stone exploding in his hand. How Dumbledore had finally reached the scene, too late to capture Voldemort as he fled Quirrell's dying body, but in time to rescue Harry, whom he had personally carried to the hospital wing.

" _That_ is way more surreal than what the Gryffindors are saying," Theo said, after she was done. "They were saying that Quirrell was trying to kill Potter for the defeat of the Dark Lord, and Potter somehow lured him into the Forbidden Corridor as a defense."

Hermione smirked. "I suspect that the Gryffindor rumor mill isn't particularly accurate or efficient," she commented. "Especially if the Weasley twins are involved at all."

This seemed to reassure the others, who all broke apart to discuss this in quiet murmurs amongst themselves. Hermione stayed in her seat, resting, while Draco, Blaise, Theo, and Daphne pulled their chairs in closer.

"Potter's still in the Hospital Wing," Draco said. He looked at her. "Will he be out in time for tomorrow's Quidditch match?"

Hermione made a face.

"Absolutely not," she told him. "Madame Pomfrey was livid at Weasley for suggesting it."

"Tomorrow, then," he told her seriously. "The last stage of Downfall to Weasley. It's the best time."

Hermione bit her lip. "What exactly do I have to do?"

Theo began talking in a low voice. They would wind up Ron, they told her. They'd make sure to sit near enough to make smart remarks and infuriate him, and because Snape wasn't refereeing, Snape would be enough of a deterrent to Ron that he'd refrain from getting physical and attacking them.

"The thing the plan depends on the most is Gryffindor losing," Theo told her. "But with Potter out, and no relief Seeker… their odds aren't looking good."

After they lost, Hermione would step in to offer Ron comfort or consoling words – right as he passed by the teachers, as close to the enchanted microphone as they could get as they left the stands. Ron, with his explosive temper, would probably take out his fury on Hermione as the closest non-Gryffindor target. He would say something hateful, and at that point, all she needed to do was cry.

"It's perfectly timed," Theo emphasized. "You just went after these three idiots and helped keep them alive, and everyone knows it. Potter won't be there to be his restraint. Weasley being cruel to you and making you cry will demonize him in front of everyone, and everyone in the school will be there to see it."

Hermione bit her lip, but nodded, resolute.

"I… If I do this, I'll probably end up crying for real," she admitted. She looked up at them, unsure. "Can… will someone…"

"We'll be right there," Daphne reassured her, earnest. "I'll be right there to help you calm down, while Weasley's getting torn to shreds by the professors. You're to be looked at as a good person Weasley victimized – not someone weak. Don't worry. We've got you."

Hermione looked around at her classmates, and they all nodded. She nodded slowly back.

"I'll be ready," she said, sighing. "I'll do it."

At the completion of their plotting, Daphne drifted off to go talk to Millie, but the boys lagged behind, all with a certain gleam in their eyes.

"What a coincidence, that McGonagall's puzzle was a chess set," Blaise said, offering her a sly grin. "How lucky you were that Weasley was there to play it for you – seeing as you're crap at chess."

Hermione tried to keep her face lily-white and emotionless, though she felt a rush of blood to her cheeks against her will. She fought to hide her instinctive response at his unstated accusation.

"What a stroke of luck that you happened to have Muggle lock picks on you," Theo said, his eyes glinting. "Who knows how long it would have taken to catch and use the right key?"

"How lucky it was that you were so _prepared_ for what Potter thought was a _suicide run_ ," Draco said, his eyes unreadable. "Why, it's almost as if you knew exactly what was coming, before you got to it."

Hermione stood deliberately, brushing off her robes, raising an eyebrow at them. Her heart was pounding in her chest, even as she fought to keep her face expressionless.

"Are you going to stand around _implying_ things all day," she said finally, "or do you have a formal accusation to make?"

That struck them, she saw, and they each recoiled a bit. A formal accusation was a token from a bygone era, where purebloods would denounce each other and duel to the death.

"I am just _wondering_ ," Draco said slowly, carefully, "why a corridor seemingly _designed_ to protect a very powerful artifact was so easily overcome by a group of first years."

"Oh." Hermione tossed her head. "That's easy – Dumbledore was trying to lure out-" she faltered "-the Dark Lord."

Harry might be brave enough to call him 'Voldemort,' but Hermione couldn't get away with that in Slytherin – not if she wanted to fit in.

"You think it was a trap?" Blaise asked.

"Of _course_ it was a trap," Hermione said, rolling her eyes. "None of the obstacles were particularly deadly. What most of them were designed to do was _take up time_. I imagine Dumbledore put them all up as a way of stalling the Dark Lord before he could get to the end, in order for him to be caught."

"Yeah, by _Potter_ ," Draco snorted, but Hermione looked thoughtful.

"You know, I wouldn't be surprised if _that_ was on purpose, too," she said. "Harry had… an _unusual_ amount of information come his way this year, leading him to what all he knew about the stone. I wouldn't be surprised if Dumbledore wanted to see how Harry could handle this weakened version of You-Know-Who. Maybe he was hoping he'd finish him off."

Draco and Theo looked thoughtful at that, and they nodded, before going their separate ways. Hermione was left with Blaise as she started heading toward her dormitory.

" _I_ am not about to be so easily distracted, love," Blaise told her, with a sly grin. "So tell me – _why_ did you play against McGonagall's chess set before?"

Hermione sighed.

"I thought it was an obstacle course, all right?" she snapped. "I thought it was a school-wide test. It seemed too easy to _actually_ be forbidden, and I wanted to get to the end and _win._ "

Blaise laughed delightedly. To Hermione's surprise, he took her hand and suddenly pulled her into a spin, then caught her, as if they were dancing.

"You are a treasure," he pronounced, his eyes alight. "What a shame you were met by a troll on the other side. Though, if I were to bet on anyone from our class to go up against a troll, it would be you."

He pressed a chaste kiss to her hair, twirled her out of his arms again with a laugh, and went off to the boys' dormitory with a jaunt to his step.

Hermione felt the flush of her face as she went to her own room, not quite sure whether to be offended that Blaise had presumed she couldn't best a troll, or to be _glad_ that Blaise had assumed she hadn't gotten farther, so no one was the wiser about her pre-emptively stealing Voldemort's goal.


	61. The Witching Hour

Hermione left the dungeons very, very late that night, at nearly 3am. She wore black denims, a black turtleneck, and Harry's invisibility cloak around her.

Part of her was utterly terrified, but part of her felt oddly still and settled.

She had asked for this, hadn't she?

Hermione silently crept up from the dungeons, careful to avoid Mrs. Norris, making her way to the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. The door was locked. It yielded to a hushed, _"Alohomora!"_ and Hermione made her way inside.

The classroom had been stripped. Hermione looked around, unable to tell if Quirrell had stripped the classroom, or if another teacher had already been through. She moved towards Quirrell's private office with her wand out, figuring this door would be locked, too. As she reached for the doorknob, there was a sharp _zap_ across her hand, and she stifled a yelp as a cut materialized on her hand, blood pooling from her hand onto the doorknob itself. The doorknob glowed an eerie red for a long moment, and the door swung silently open.

Hermione stared into the darkened room for a long moment, uneasy, before whispering, _"Episkey"_ to staunch the bleeding of her palm.

She was glad she'd gotten permission from Quirrell before trying this. She imagined that curse would have been none too pleasant otherwise.

Not that she would have dared.

This room, too, was dark, but there were two trunks that stood in the middle of the room. Hermione moved to examine them. They looked identical, save one had sealed letter on it, embossed with a wax seal of a skull and a snake. Shivering, Hermione turned it over in her hands.

_Miss Hermione Granger_

She figured she shouldn't have been surprised, but somehow, she still was.

The letter seemed to leap in her hands as she opened it, giving her a paper cut, and she swore as she stuck her finger in her mouth. The letter unfolded before her a moment later, and Hermione belatedly realized that this, too, was a blood-specific seal. She hadn't realized her blood from the ward stone could be tied to so many things.

Shifting in front of the window, Hermione read the letter by the eerie moonlight filtering through the trees.

_Dear Hermione Granger,_

_If you have this letter, then something has gone wrong. It was a risk, as you yourself said, but one I was willing to take. While I am undoubtedly livid at this setback, whatever happened to me was through no fault of your own. Know that I do not hold you responsible. Your Defense Professor, however, is most likely dead. Do not mourn him; he was largely useless and is the most likely cause for why I have failed. You did not like him, anyway._

_Before you stand two chests. The one on the left is a decoy; it contains teaching materials, turbans, clothes, and other irrelevant details of a life not worth keeping. Leave it; the teachers will find it and presume Quirrell had packed and intended to flee in the night after our success. There are some Dark protections on it to make this chest seem genuine; do not try to open it._

_The chest on the right is my own. I suspect that you, by now, have long suspected that Quirrell was not just himself. You are a bright girl, and I do not doubt you knew exactly whom you were dealing with when you offered to board my books. Your ambition will serve you well, and it has in this case; here are my books. Guard them with your life._

_Alas, this is an incomplete collection, and only what I could gather again whilst I had Quirrell at my command. Some I was able to find from an old home of mine, but my most valuable tomes remain safely hidden. Still, this is probably best – even a very clever first year could get into trouble by delving too deep into the Dark, too fast._

_Keep these for me. Do not show anyone. The trunk is keyed to your blood. Books you ought to beware of have been wrapped shut with belts or ribbons; I would advise you to avoid these tomes for now._

_Hopefully, I will be able to return soon and see you again. At such a time, if you are still such a willing student, I would be happy to guide you in learning what these books have to offer._

_Many pleasant returns._

There was a heavy silence as Hermione stared at the parchment in front of her, unmoving, only broken by the soft hoot of an owl out the window, which finally brought Hermione back to life. Almost robotically, Hermione brought her wand up, and with a whispered, " _Incendio,"_ all evidence of the note was gone.

Slowly, ever so slowly, Hermione moved for the trunk on the right. When she touched the chest and nothing happened, she relaxed somewhat, before carefully standing it on end, fiddling with the invisibility cloak. It was a challenge, to wrap it around the trunk as well as herself, and in the end, she couldn't quite do it. She had to settle for wrapping the cloak around the trunk, with the possibility of using the cloak around herself and hugging herself around the chest against the wall if she heard anyone approaching.

Better she get caught alone than with the trunk. If she were caught with _this_ …

She couldn't even imagine the punishment she would face.

Hermione imagined possible outcomes as she carefully aimed her wand at the trunk, and with a _Wingardium Leviosa_ , guided it down to the dungeons, moving slowly to stay quiet, keeping carefully aware of how much power she was expending through the levitation spell. She imagined she'd be immediately expelled, for one, for stealing a professor's things, if nothing else. If they realized she'd been _chosen_ , that she'd arranged this _beforehand_ and hadn't told anyone…

Well, she'd read about Azkaban. She didn't think the wizards had an equivalent facility for the incarceration of minors, but the wizarding world didn't seem too keen on treating children like children, so she'd be surprised to learn juvenile detention was a thing.

It was very, very, _very_ carefully that Hermione managed to finally ease into the dungeons and push the chest underneath her bed, hiding it underneath her clothes. She was sweating and out of breath with wild eyes, her power reserves exhausted, but as the chest vanished beneath her winter robes, tension slowly bled from her body, and she allowed herself to take a shaky breath.

She collapsed into her bed, hesitating only to set her alarm for the usual time. No one could know she had been out late. And nighttime exploits or not, she was expected to get up and look nice for Ron to yell at her the next day.


	62. Downfall to Weasley

It was a really odd feeling, Hermione reflected that morning, to get up and decide what clothes you wanted to cry in.

The more Hermione thought about it, the more uncomfortable she felt. It was the end of the school year, and the Slytherins had subtly undermined Ron at every available opportunity. They'd largely succeeded – his housemates, by and large, were _not_ fans of him. She still felt somehow compelled, though – perhaps because not _everyone_ disliked Ron, only members of his house?

She wanted to back out. Desperately. But at this point, she couldn't _not_ let Ron yell at her until she was in tears. The idea of not doing it seemed foreign… it seemed _wrong._ Like something was pushing her on.

At least this would be the end of it, Hermione decided. Having Ron yell at her until she cried was the last thing they'd all agreed on as part of their 'Downfall to Weasley' plot. Maybe after this, it could all end.

Though Ron would still be a troll. It wasn't as if he'd ever learned a lesson from anything that had happened to him.

She sighed, pulling on one of her nicer green robes, pinning her Slytherin crest to her chest. It was a lot harder to show House Pride when it was so hot out – she couldn't bear the thought of wearing a scarf in this weather. After giving herself a long once-over, fixing her hair a bit, Hermione sighed and left, joining her friends, who were happily babbling about the Quidditch match.

"I can't believe they're going to play without Potter!" Flint was laughing. "This is going to be a slaughter!"

"It's not as if they have any other option," an older girl pointed out. "Classes are all over, and we all leave in a couple days. There's no time left to postpone the match."

"Brilliant!" Flint roared. He looked up abruptly, as if just seeing Hermione, and gave her a devious smile. It was quite frightening, actually; her parents would have had fits at the state of his teeth.

"And we have you to thank for it!" he said, and Hermione was abruptly grabbed, Flint rubbing her head hard with his knuckles, getting his hand tangled in her hair. "You and Professor Quirrell!"

"I hardly think _I_ had anything to do with Harry getting injured!" Hermione objected, fighting to get away from Flint. Several others were laughing, watching. "He seems quite able to do that all on his own!"

Flint laughed and let go of her, and Hermione stumbled away in a huff. Flint was looking at her fondly, though, like a little sister, and Adrian Pucey and another boy were laughing with him, but they were grinning at her. Hermione gave a tentative smile back but veered away from them, joining with Tracey and Blaise as they went down to the pitch, but when she glanced over at them, Pucey shot her a mischievous smile, one that she cautiously returned.

Maybe they really were just grateful that Harry couldn't play. He _was_ a Quidditch prodigy. With him playing, Hufflepuff wouldn't have stood much of a chance.

The match itself was tense. It was awkward to watch a match knowing someone was going to yell at you afterward, and Hermione found it hard to enjoy herself, but she tried her best. At least the Quidditch match wasn't quite as much of a slaughter as Hermione had feared it'd be; the rest of the Gryffindor team was playing as fiercely as possible, the Chasers aggressive beyond measure, and the Beaters doing their absolute best to obstruct Hufflepuff's Seeker. Hermione decided that this was better – it was giving the Slytherin boys more time to hassle Ron. Hermione could see them from across the stands behind Ron. Who knew what remarks Draco and Blaise and Theo were making? Were Crabbe and Goyle getting involved?

Whatever they were saying, it was working; Ron was clearly getting angrier and angrier – his face changed colors when he was mad.

The Hufflepuff Seeker, however, managed to catch the Snitch, giving Hufflepuff the win at 210-60. This meant they won the Quidditch cup, and Hermione was surprised to see there was an actual cup Hufflepuff won, like a Muggle sports trophy. Everyone was cheering, and Hermione amicably clapped along with them. Even though she didn't care who won, she was happy for Hufflepuff.

 _Better them than Gryffindor,_ she smiled to herself. Even with as many friends as she had in Gryffindor, it was hard not to internalize the rivalry between Gryffindor and Slytherin in some way, shape, or form.

Hermione felt a gentle nudge on her back, and she turned.

"It's time," Daphne murmured. "Are you ready?"

Hermione took a deep breath.

As everyone began to leave, Hermione angled her path leaving the stands carefully, arriving just in front of the teacher's box as Neville and Ron arrived. She arrived just as planned, glancing around to confirm at least one teacher was around, before turning to the Gryffindors.

"Hi Ron, Neville! Wow, what a game!"

Hermione had practiced her excitement in the mirror that morning, and she was sure her eyes were alight. Neville looked surprised to see her, while Ron was glaring at the world.

"Hi, Hermione," Neville said back, offering a half smile. Ron just glared.

"It's a shame Harry wasn't able to play," Hermione said, "but wasn't it exciting? The Chasers seemed determined to cover for the lack of a seeker!"

Ron glared at her, as if she'd personally insulted him. Hermione fought the urge to flinch.

"It was quite intense," Neville agreed, as they fell into step with her. "I'm glad Gryffindor managed to put up a show."

"I couldn't quite keep track of what all was going on, of course," Hermione prattled on, "But the Gryffindors _did_ seem to be trying very hard. _Such_ a disappointment you lost. But it looked very-"

"What do you even care about sports?" Ron said abruptly, interrupting.

Hermione's eyes widened. "I-"

"You _don't_ ," Ron sneered. "You don't know _anything_ about Quidditch, Hermione. You just think it's all fun and games, don't you?"

Even though she knew that Draco and his friends had been winding Ron up all during the game, his sudden venom still caught her off guard.

"I- Ron, it _is_ just a game," Hermione said slowly. "That's what Quidditch _is_."

"It is **not**!" Ron yelled, and Hermione was startled to see him look so angry so fast. "It is **not** just a game!"

"Ron?" Neville looked alarmed. "Ron, what…?"

Hermione bit her lip. "Ron, I-"

"No, Hermione, you don't get it. You don't get _anything!_ You don't get how important this game was to Gryffindor, and you don't get that this isn't a time where it's okay to be happy!"

"But Ron- I'm not _in_ Gryffindor-"

"Right," Ron cut her off, sneering. "You're a stinking _Slytherin_. You're probably _happy_ Gryffindor lost."

"What are you even talking about, Ron?"

"I'm talking about how you're over here, chatting with us like nothing's wrong!"

Ron seemed to have lost it, and Hermione could see out of the corner of her eye the professors coming down the stairs and looking over at the commotion.

"You pretend like you're our friend, and like you're one of us, but you're _not!_ You're a scummy Slytherin, and you'll betray us in the end! You're probably _happy_ Harry was in the Hospital Wing! You're not actually our friend! You don't _belong_ with us! You don't even – you don't even belong _here!_ "

Hermione recoiled. "I- what-"

"Even scummy _Slytherins_ can follow Quidditch, but you don't even care that much," Ron snarled. "You don't even belong at _Hogwarts!_ Hermione, just- just GO AWAY!"

The hatred on Ron's face was hot and raw, and the venom in his eyes as he glared at her was real.

"I- _Ron_ -"

It was as she'd feared; Hermione didn't have to fake anything at all – she publicly dissolved into tear, with everyone able to see.

There was a rush of noise around her, but Hermione couldn't tell what was going on – her eyes were watery, and she was crying, rubbing her eyes and hiding her face in her hands. There was a loud explosion of noise around her, a sharp "Mr. Weasley!" from Professor McGonagall, and then a lot of yelling. Hermione ignored it, burying her face in her hands, her body shaking.

She didn't _belong_.

She wasn't a real friend.

She didn't have to pretend to cry – she was really _crying_ , her body wracked by sobs. As cruel as his words had been, Ron had been _right_ , Hermione thought. She was-

"It's okay, Hermione," a gentle voice interrupted her thoughts, and Hermione was surprised to realize it was Neville. "He didn't mean it."

"Yes, he _did_ ," Hermione objected, hiccoughing. "He _hates_ me, just because I'm Slytherin."

"Well, _I_ don't hate you, and Harry doesn't hate you," Neville said, awkwardly patting her back. "And- well, we're better friends with you than we are with Ron, anyway."

Hermione's mind screeched to a halt.

_…What?_

Hermione looked up at Neville through her tears. "…Really?"

"Really," Neville said, nodding. "You're nice to us, you helped us learn how to do homework, and you were there when we needed you. We wouldn't have survived that corridor without you, you know. Ron's…" Neville trailed off, uncertain. "…Ron's just jealous of you, maybe. That we like you better, even though you're in Slytherin."

_They liked her better?_

Her tears slowing now that Ron was no longer yelling at her, Hermione could see more clearly. Ron had been dragged off to the side, and to her surprise, so had a couple other Gryffindor boys and a few Slytherins. Both Professor McGonagall and Professor Snape were standing there, towering over them. Professor McGonagall looked like she was scolding them all, furious, and Professor Snape's arms were folded ominously, as if he was just waiting his turn. All the students filing past were glancing at Hermione as she cried, and then looking at Ron, who was being yelled at by the professors, as they went back to the castle. Most of them were shooting Ron disgusted looks – even if they didn't know who he was, they could tell he'd made a first-year girl cry.

 _Mission accomplished_ , Hermione thought to herself, sniffling. _Right?_

Neville stiffened next to her, and hurriedly told her he had to go and rapidly scurried off. A moment later, the reason became clear – Professor Snape was approaching. Hermione looked up at him, and he looked down at her for a long moment, before producing a black handkerchief from his cloak and wordlessly handing it to her. Hermione took it, wiped her nose, and blew.

"You may have just lost us the House Cup," Snape remarked, his voice neutral.

Hermione looked up rapidly.

"What? _How_ -?"

"You seem to inspire loyalty," Snape drawled. He gestured toward Ron, where Professor McGonagall was still dressing down a group of boys. "Some of your fellow Slytherins overheard Mister Weasley's remarks to you. They took exception to him saying such things about you."

Hermione wiped her eyes and peered over. To her surprise, Marcus Flint was there, along with Adrian Pucey and another boy she thought might be named Graham. They were glaring at Ron and two other Gryffindor boys who were with him – Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnegan, Hermione recognized from her classes. The Gryffindor boys were glaring back defiantly, but the Slytherins… they looked murderous. And Seamus Finnegan very definitely looked like he had a broken nose.

"Professor McGonagall is taking points from everyone involved," Snape said. " _Including_ your valiant defenders."

Hermione sniffed. "I'm sorry, sir."

For some reason, the thought of losing the House Cup now, on top of everything else, sent her dissolving into tears again, and Hermione blew her nose loudly into the handkerchief, trying her best not to cry. Snape looked very uncomfortable. He patted her back twice, then shot a dark look over at the group who had fought.

"Mr. Weasley is a fool," Snape said darkly. "You belong here more than he does, Miss Granger. Your aptitude for magic is second to none. And you are the top student of your year." He looked down at her, his tone softening. "Do not let his words touch you, Miss Granger. You are worth far more _now_ than he will ever be worth."

Hermione nodded, wiping her eyes with a clean corner. "…T-thank you, sir."

She offered him the handkerchief, but Snape declined.

"Drop it in with the laundry; the castle will see it returned to me," he told her. He looked at here, somewhat sharply. "You are well?"

It was more a command than an inquiry, but Hermione nodded all the same. Snape nodded back at her before striding off toward the castle, following the trickle of others back in.

"…well, it worked."

Hermione turned to see Daphne, Draco, Theo, and Blaise, all of whom had hung back, waiting. They moved forward now, encircling her. Daphne patted her back gently, but Blaise shamelessly wrapped her in a tight hug for a long moment, earning a glare from Draco, before he let her go.

"It worked?" Hermione repeated, looking at Daphne.

"It definitely did," Theo said. "McGonagall docked him twenty points for fighting, and another twenty points for 'unbecoming conduct'. Everyone heard her do it as they walked by."

"More than that," Draco said, his eyes glinting, "Snape assigned him detention."

Hermione paused. "…Detention? The year is over."

"Detention," Draco repeated, smirking, "…during the Leaving Feast."

They all gasped, and Blaise and Draco started snickering.

"I've never ever heard of that," Theo said, his own smirk spreading across his face. "How does that work?"

"He's got it with Filch," Draco said, as they all started ambling across the grass, the last ones to head back toward the castle. "Merlin only knows what gross thing Filch will have him doing – hopefully cleaning the toilets without a wand…"

"Are you okay?" Daphne asked her quietly, and Hermione was struck by the concern in her voice. When had things changed so much that Daphne cared about her welfare? "Weasley said some pretty harsh things…"

"A lot of what he said was true, actually," Hermione said, sighing. "I _am_ Slytherin. I _was_ happy Gryffindor lost. And I _did_ betray them, for this plan."

"You did no such thing," Draco said abruptly, turning. Hermione and Daphne both looked up at the sudden interruption – Hermione hadn't realized anyone else was listening.

"You did no such thing," Draco said again, fiercely. His eyes flashed. "Hermione, Weasley betrayed _you,_ first. Any friendship you once had, he threw away and repeatedly stomped on. And you've not betrayed Longbottom or Potter – you risked your _life_ , going with them to save them on their stupid quest."

Hermione nodded. "I- yes, but-"

"You only ever associate with Weasley if Potter and Longbottom are around, correct?" he continued. " _They_ are your friends, Hermione. Weasley is _not_. He has not _earned_ your friendship – and he has treated you poorly enough for us to mark him as your foe."

The others murmured their agreement as they entered the castle, leaving Hermione to quietly reflect on Draco's words.


	63. The House Cup

The leaving feast, Hermione reflected, had an unusual atmosphere about it. Part of it felt incredibly tense, while part of it felt joyous and celebratory.

The cause of the tense feeling was obvious. Despite all she'd done to help Slytherin towards the House Cup, somehow, Slytherin and Ravenclaw were _tied._ No one seemed to know what to do about this – no one had realized until they'd walked into the Great Hall and seen _both_ banners hanging, both houses' colors hanging on the walls, clashing with each other.

Jade was _furious_.

"This is all because of Malfoy's stupid nighttime excursions, the constant fighting in the halls, and Flint's abrupt fight club out there," she hissed, glaring at Flint. "I can't _believe_ you picked a fight _right in front of the teachers_."

Marcus Flint just grinned at her, his jaw still purpleing and bruised, and flipped her the bird.

"Wasn't my fault," he said. "Blame the Weasley snot. I'd do it again."

He shot Hermione a grin, and Hermione rolled her eyes.

The others, however, seemed more okay with this odd tie. The Ravenclaw house was exchanging teasing remarks with the Slytherins, which Hermione hadn't expected. The two House tables were next to each other, but it was funny to see the older students teasing each other. Hermione was surprised to see that Ravenclaw seemed _fine_ with the tie; she wondered if it was because Ravenclaw, in the end, didn't really care who won the House Cup. Unless it directly impacted their studies, Ravenclaws didn't seem to be fazed by much.

There was a sudden hush in the room, and then everybody started talking loudly. Hermione realized that Harry had entered the room, finally out of the Hospital wing, and a lot of people were standing up and trying to get a look at him. Hermione winced – that had to be awkward for him.

Hermione went over to the Gryffindor table, offering him a smile, which Harry gratefully returned. She picked up a roll, while Harry settled himself in.

"How bad is it?" Harry asked wryly, looking to Neville and Hermione. "Has the rumor mill gotten it right? Am I going to be accused of murdering our teacher flat-out?"

He gave them a half-hearted smile, trying for humor, but Hermione could hear the real worry behind his tone.

"They've got it mostly right," Hermione said, considering. "The main points are all there – Quirrell was host to Lord Voldemort, went after Dumbledore's treasure in an attempt to return himself to life, and you risked your life and stopped him yourself. Everyone knows Quirrell's dead, and I think most people know that Lord Voldemort escaped as a shade, too."

The unusual accuracy of the rumor mill was largely due to Hermione's public factual recounting of the adventure in the Slytherin common room. The Slytherins would have hid their source, but they would have spread the story to their friends in other houses, who in turn would have passed it on.

"People aren't talking about that as much, now," Neville said darkly. "Everyone's talking about Ron."

Hermione winced, and Harry looked puzzled.

"Ron?" Harry asked. He looked around, craning his head. "Where _is_ Ron?"

"He's not here," Hermione said quickly. "He, um, got detention, so he's cleaning out the classrooms with Filch…"

" _Detention?_ " Harry said incredulously. "For the _leaving feast?_ "

"What Hermione isn't saying," Neville said, giving Hermione a pointed look, "is Ron got detention for screaming at her after the Quidditch game."

_"What?"_

Hermione winced, but Neville went into it, recounting everything Ron had said, every name he'd called her and every insult he'd thrown her way. Neville's voice got heated and vehement as he continued, his eyes hard.

"-and then he accused her of being a fake friend who would betray us, putting you in the Hospital wing on purpose, and said she didn't belong at Hogwarts and she might as well leave!"

Hermione's chest was tight. She was looking at the table, gradually shredding the roll in her hands into little tiny pieces as she blinked rapidly. She wasn't sure why – it wasn't like she was going to be able to eat any of the wisps of bread she pulled free. It was just… hearing everything Ron said _again_ … but this time, her Slytherin friends across the room…

_"Hermione."_

Harry's voice was commanding, and Hermione instinctively jerked her head up, her gaze meeting Harry's. His green eyes were hard, alight, and he looked angry. Hermione had to fight the urge to flinch backwards.

"Hermione, you and Neville are my _best friends_ ," he said fiercely. "Ron is a friend too, but he might not even be _that_ anymore – not after saying that sort of thing to you. That is _not_ okay."

Hermione bit her lip hard, trying to hold back any sort of emotional outburst. She felt like she wanted to burst into tears.

Harry, perceptive as he was, saw through it immediately.

"Come here," he said, and Hermione flew around the table to give him a proper hug, which Harry returned. They both lingered, longer than a usual hug, but Hermione needed the reassurance – both the physical reassurance that _Harry was okay,_ that he was out of the Hospital Wing, as well as the emotional reassurance that he was her friend, that he still liked her, that he wasn't going to throw her away. Harry didn't seem to mind; he tried to pat and stroke her back, but ended up kind of drumming on her ribs, and Hermione was laughing when she pulled back. Harry looked embarrassed but happy.

"I don't have much experience comforting upset girls," he told her, and Hermione laughed.

"Well, I'm glad you made the effort to try," she replied, and Harry shot her a grin.

There was a sudden hush in the hall, before murmurs broke out, and Hermione looked up, seeing that Dumbledore had just arrived.

"I better go!" she whispered, and she darted across the hall to retake her seat amongst the Slytherins.

"Potter okay?" Draco drawled, raising a judgmental eyebrow.

Hermione ignored his tone.

"Yes. He's furious about what Weasley did on the Quidditch pitch," she remarked, her tone casual. "Might not even be his friend after today."

Draco's face broke into a satisfied smirk, and Hermione ignored him to settle her robes around her and turn to face the head table with the others, where Dumbledore had clapped his hands loudly to get everyone's attention.

"Another year gone!" Dumbledore said cheerfully. "And I must trouble you with an old man's wheezing waffle before we finish this feast. What a year it has been! Hopefully your heads are all a little fuller than they were… you have the whole summer ahead to get them nice and empty before next year starts…"

Hermione made a face, and she rolled her eyes at Theo, who rolled his eyes back at her. What was the point of learning everything if you just forgot it all?

"Now, as I understand it, the House Cup here needs awarding, and the points stand thus: In fourth place, Gryffindor, with three hundred and twelve points; in third place, Hufflepuff, with three hundred and fifty-two; and Ravenclaw and Slytherin both tied in the lead, at four hundred sixty-two."

There was a murmur as everyone looked around. A tie had never been heard of.

"Yes, yes, well done everyone," said Dumbledore. "However, recent events must be taken into account."

The room went very still. Hermione blinked. The term was over – what was left to award points for?

"Ahem," said Dumbledore. "I have a few last-minute points to dish out. Let me see. Yes…"

"First – to Mr. Neville Longbottom…"

There was a loud gasp, and Neville, trembling, stood up at the Gryffindor table. There was a murmur through the crowd.

"…for staying to help his friends out of a tangled situation, I award Gryffindor House fifty points."

The Gryffindors started cheering. Fifty points! Such numbers were rarely heard of – Hermione had only managed it once early in the term by _breaking Dumbledore's Transfiguration record._ And Neville had earned fifty in one go! And _tangled situation_ – that could only refer to Neville's aptitude with the Devil's Snare.

At last there was silence again.

"Second – to Mr. Ronald Weasley… for the best-played game of chess Hogwarts has seen in many years, I award Gryffindor house fifty points."

The Gryffindors were losing themselves, bouncing in their seats – they were suddenly a hundred points up. Hermione felt an abrupt sinking sensation in her stomach as she realized what was about to happen. Hermione craned her neck, trying to catch Snape's eye, but he was too busy glaring at McGonagall.

"Third – to Mr. Harry Potter…"

The room went deadly quiet, and Hermione felt a hot anger spark inside of her. If Dumbledore was going to do this nonsense, he should do it _right._

"…for pure nerve and outstanding courage…"

Hermione swore, reached inside of her, and whispered, _"Ventus."_

"…I award Gryffindor House sixty points."

The din was deafening. Those who could add up while yelling now knew that Gryffindor was in the lead – exactly ten points over Ravenclaw and Slytherin. The Ravenclaws, who certainly _could_ add, looked insulted that _Gryffindor_ was about to win over them, while the Slytherins looked mutinous.

Hermione twitched her wand, and the gust of wind circled Snape's head, mussing his hair. Snape's head turned rapidly, looking for the culprit, and she kept the spell up until his eyes landed on hers.

She pointed to herself, gesturing frantically, and Snape's eyes widened.

"And if my addition serves me right—" Dumbledore said loudly, over the cheers. The Gryffindors, however, refused to quiet down, and Hermione watched as Snape quietly moved to behind Dumbledore, whispering something in his ear, and Dumbledore stopped, as if frozen in place.

Very slowly, Dumbledore turned his blue eyes to her.

Hermione was not sure that Dumbledore had ever really _seen_ her before, but he was looking at her now. He was looking at her with the look of someone who had almost solved a puzzle, all save one last piece that refused to just quite fit in. He kept glancing from Harry to her, from her to Harry, up to the banners hanging over each house. His blue eyes were piercing, almost accusing, and Hermione felt a rush of comprehension.

 _Dumbledore didn't know she was in Slytherin_.

It was an abrupt realization. But as soon as she thought it, she had rationalized it. Of _course_ he wouldn't know she was in Slytherin – why _would_ he? She was one of any number of Slytherins, and he couldn't keep track of all the students in his school. She'd never gotten in trouble, so she'd never been sent to his office (if Hogwarts even worked like that), and she was only a lowly first year. She doubted the Headmaster even knew who she _was_. Still…

Her mind flickered back over the past year. Although she'd studied with the Ravenclaws, in public, she was often alongside Harry, Ron, and Neville, sometimes even in the Gryffindor common room with them. If the Headmaster had only been paying attention to Harry… had he just assumed her to be some sort of sidekick to Harry's hero?

Dumbledore was looking back at Snape with a sharp look, and Snape was giving Dumbledore an oily smile in return. Hermione's heart had stopped beating. Had Dumbledore trapped himself into doing what Hermione thought he was about to do?

Dumbledore held up a hand, and the hall fell quiet once more.

"It takes a great deal of bravery to stand up to our enemies," Dumbledore said, smiling. But Hermione could see through it now - his smile was just a bit pinched, the sparkle in his eyes gone. "But it can be even harder to keep a calm head. For the use of cool logic in the face of fire… I award fifty points to Miss Hermione Granger."

The change was _dramatic._

The yells and moans of loud objections of the Gryffindors were drowned out by the cheers and screams of triumph of the Slytherins. Gone was the carefully-cultivated pureblood sense of decorum – students were banging on the table with their goblets and stamping their feet. Hermione had a moment to see that the Ravenclaws were cheering too, many of them grinning at Hermione specifically, before she was nearly tackled by Jade, who had thrown her arms around her.

"We _won-!_ "

"Which means," Dumbledore called over the din, "we need a change of decoration."

He clapped his hands, and in an instant the Ravenclaw hangings vanished, and huge Slytherin serpents now decorated the room, the hall clad in silver and green. Professor McGonagall was glaring at Snape, who was giving her an oily smile, and Hermione couldn't help but laugh.

"I was determined to have Slytherin win the House Cup all seven years of my education here," Jade told Hermione seriously, hugging her again. "And we almost _lost_ it! You _saved_ us-! You saved our _legacy!_ "

Hermione thought that Jade was going a bit overboard, but her classmates were still cheering and whistling, and even Theo was grinning – Theo, who rarely grinned. Draco was banging his cup, and Blaise was whistling, and all the girls were still yelling and hugging each other in celebration.

Still, though…

The look Dumbledore had given her, like he'd suddenly _seen_ her, gave Hermione an uneasy feeling the rest of the feast.


	64. Exam Results

Exam results arrived the next morning, envelopes magically appearing on their nightstands during the night, and Hermione was flush with pleasure to see how spectacularly she'd done. Not only had she gotten a perfect or better in each subject, but in many of them, she'd managed extra credit as well, and best of all, their exam sheets were ranked, and she was at the top of the class.

Not that that was saying much when your class only had around fifty students, but still. She'd beaten out all the Ravenclaws – Terry Boot was bound to have something to say to her about that.

At breakfast, the Slytherins were carefully discussing their results without making any reference to how well they'd actually done, feeling each other out, waiting to see who would crack first and directly state how well they did. Hermione rolled her eyes and ignored their discussion to look over at the Gryffindors. Harry looked okay, and Neville had a look of surprised pleasure on his face, which made Hermione smile. She smirked at Ron's visibly red face as the twins teased him. He probably hadn't done as well as he'd thought he'd do.

Wanting to _actually_ discuss exam grades, Hermione got up while people were looking over at Draco and slipped over to the Ravenclaw table, where Terry Boot was loudly proclaiming the bias of the Transfiguration exam.

"How pretty something is is _entirely_ subjective," he was complaining. "I shouldn't get points off simply because McGonagall didn't appreciate my sense of style."

"She didn't," Hermione said, sliding in next to Mandy Brocklehurst. "She gave extra credit for style. She didn't deduct if it _wasn't_ stylish."

Anthony shot her a grin. "'Morning, Hermione."

Hermione gave him a smile, while Terry frowned over his results, muttering.

"Then where did I get a point off…?"

"Did your lid come off?" Mandy suggested. "Mine almost didn't."

"Yes, yes, the box was all fine…" Terry said, frowning. "I swear, it must have been from the style."

"What style did you choose?" Hermione asked.

Terry drew himself up.

"It was a very modern and stark design," he told her, his voice haughty, "to mimic the disaster snuff can cause to one's health. It was a very cold metal, with creepy shadows etched into the lid, and bars coming down the sides to mimic a jail cell-"

"Bars?" Hermione repeated. "Like, little cutouts?"

"Yes," Terry said, nodding. "And then, there were-"

"That's your problem there, mate," Anthony said, shooting Hermione a conspiring look. "If you had cutouts, the snuff would have blown out of the box."

Terry gave Anthony a dark look. "It was a _style._ It was artistic license."

"Professor McGonagall took points off for my lid not coming off," Mandy said, frowning. "She definitely would have deducted points for the box being impractical or unusable. That's got to be where you lost it."

"Still," Terry said, folding his arms and pouting. "To slip so far down from one point lost!"

"Oh, shut up," Mandy said, exasperated. "You'd think you'd lost an aunt, you're so upset. We're all still in the top ten of the class – we're all fine."

"Where are you all?" Hermione asked. Terry sighed and slumped down onto the table, while Anthony rolled his eyes.

"I'm in fifth," Anthony said, shrugging. "Terry got fourth. Mandy ranked seventh. Michael's not even come down for breakfast yet." Anthony winced. "He's still hiding his face – he only got ninth."

Hermione goggled at them for a moment.

"… _none_ of you got the top three?" she said.

Terry glared at her. "You don't have to rub it in."

But Hermione was already on her feet, looking around the Great Hall, scanning. In Gryffindor… no, she knew the first year Gryffindors, and there was no way they'd gotten into the top ten. In Hufflepuff… Ernie Macmillan was good at written, but pants at the practical aspects of magic, and he couldn't have beaten Terry and Anthony…

Her eyes fell on the Slytherin table, and she started to smile.

"We got them," she said quietly. "We got all three."

"What?" Terry growled. " _Slytherins_ beat out _Ravenclaw_ for the top three?"

"I-"

Terry was already storming over to the first years at the Slytherin table. Hermione hurried after him, and Anthony look like he was trying to stifle his laughter, but he quickly followed.

"You snakes beat us out for the top three spots?" Terry demanded, glaring at everyone. " _How?_ "

Hermione's housemates all slowly turned to give Terry a look, and it was almost as if they'd practiced – it was the same slightly sneering, dismissive look on all their faces. Hermione took the opportunity to slide back into her seat at the Slytherin table, next to Tracey, not bothering to hide her grin. Tracey smirked back at her.

"We're the house of ambition," Draco sneered at Terry. "Does it surprise you that great things come from us?"

"Who ranked what?" Terry demanded. "Who beat me?"

Theo raised an eyebrow. "We're not so crass as to discuss numbers-"

"Oh, shut up, Nott," Blaise interrupted. He looked at Theo with a grin. "I got sixth. You'll have to find your culprit elsewhere."

Draco groaned. "Blaise, you do _not_ just _share_ your exam results with the Ravenclaws…"

"I got third," Theo said suddenly. He gave Terry an evaluating look. "I figured one of you eagles took second. You're saying all the top three are in Slytherin?"

Draco squirmed, though he was trying to hide it. Hermione blinked, tilting her head. Something wasn't adding up.

"One of you had to," Terry said, scowling. "You snakes-"

"Ravenclaw had fourth, fifth, seventh, and ninth in the class," Anthony interrupted, giving Terry a warning look. "There's no one at Gryffindor or Hufflepuff to provide a challenge, so…"

"So who got second?" Terry demanded, glaring across the table.

A handful of the Slytherins were squirming slightly, before finally, Draco, with an exasperated, put-upon sigh, raised his hand.

Theo gasped.

"I got second," Draco said, haughty superiority in his tone. But he couldn't fool Hermione – she'd shared classes and a common room with him for a year. Draco was _upset_ , she could tell, but he was hiding it well.

Theo, however, completely decomposed.

"You got _second?_ " he demanded of Draco. "If you got _second_ , who got first?"

"Hermione," Anthony said simply.

The Slytherins all swiveled to look at her, their eyes wide, accusing. Hermione did her best to ignore them, instead looking up at Anthony.

"How did you know?" she asked. "You didn't even ask."

Anthony gave her a teasing grin, his eyes sparkling. "I didn't need to. Was there ever a chance it would be somebody else?"

Hermione felt her own lips tug into a smile in response, and Anthony's grin widened.

" _Granger?_ " A familiar voice screeched, and with a sigh, Hermione turned to look at Pansy.

"Yes…?" Hermione said, her voice sounding very put-upon. Pansy ignored her.

"We're supposed to believe _Granger_ got the top spot?" Pansy said sharply. " _Granger_ did? She couldn't have – she's a Mud-"

Draco elbowed Pansy sharply, and Pansy yelped.

"-I mean, she's Muggle-born-"

"Oh, right," Anthony said, sniffing dismissively. "You lot all think that still matters."

"Is that it?" Terry demanded, and his voice was hard. "You all didn't think Hermione could come in top because she's got Muggles for parents?"

Hermione could see their faces as well as Terry could, a cold feeling growing in her chest-

 _"No,_ " Draco said emphatically, cutting Terry off. He glared at him. "That's got nothing to do with it at all."

"Oh? That what _does_ it have to-"

"Draco's been going on all year about his plans to be in the top of the class," Theo said. He glanced at Draco, who flushed slightly. Theo looked back to Terry. "I'm _surprised_ that Hermione beat him. I expected her to be in the top ten, but I didn't realize she was _that_ good."

Theo gave her a wry smile, apologetic, and Hermione found herself surprisedly offering him a small smile back.

" _I_ was surprised."

Hermione looked to see Pansy standing, folding her arms and glaring from Hermione to the Ravenclaws.

Blaise groaned. "Pans, it's not like you would have stood a chance at the top anyway. Sit down before you embarrass yourself…"

"I _am_ ," Pansy sneered. "What with her heritage… and her _blood_ …"

"Like you're one to talk about blood," Millie murmured, and Pansy's face flushed an unattractive mottled color.

"You're a fool," Terry pronounced disgustedly. "And Hermione's New Blood, anyway – did you really think any of you stood a chance?" Terry offered Hermione a small smile in recognition, which Hermione returned.

"Or so she _claims_ ," snarled Pansy, and Terry whirled around on her.

"Have you ever actually _seen_ her cast magic?" His voice was sharp, and Hermione felt touched, that her Ravenclaw friends would come to her defense like this. "It's incredible. She can analyze and dissect spells without a thought. Magic _speaks_ to her. You can't _fake_ that."

Pansy glared at them all, and with a huff, stormed off towards the Slytherin dungeons. The table fell quiet as they watched her go.

Anthony laid a hand on Hermione's shoulder.

"Do you want to come finish eating with us?" he asked quietly.

Hermione considered, but she wasn't going to let Pansy's remarks get to her – not now, on the day of her triumph.

"Thank you, but I'm fine here," she said. "I just came over to see how you'd all done."

Anthony nodded at her, understanding, before squeezing her shoulder as he turned and left. Terry gave them all a disgusted look before turning away and leaving too.

Very aware of her classmates' eyes on her, Hermione, very composedly, served herself some eggs. There was a small silence as they all returned to their plates.

"So," Theo said, breaking the silence. "First. Top of the year."

"Yes," Hermione said.

"That's quite the accomplishment, Granger," he said, his eyes glittering.

"Yes, it is," Hermione said. She tilted her chin up slightly, looking down her nose at him. "I'm aware."

"Your parents are going to be so proud of you," he said, a grin on his face, "taking first in the year."

Hermione blinked.

 _Her parents…?_ Was that a slight?

But Theo's tone didn't seem cruel.

"They are going to be _so_ proud of you," Theo continued on, his grin getting wider. "In fact, they might even offer to buy you-"

"Shut _up_ , Nott," Draco snapped, shoving him hard. Theo went crashing into Daphne and toppling off the bench. Theo hauled himself back up, laughing, and there were two spots of color high on Draco's cheeks as Draco turned to Hermione. He shifted over on the bench across the table, until he was sitting directly in front of Hermione, and he leaned forward to talk to her.

"My parents have let me know I'm expected to get first in my year every year since I was old enough to know about Hogwarts," Draco told her, careful to keep his tone quiet. His tone was almost apologetic. "I was shocked to see I'd come in second. I'd studied so hard, and even gotten extra credit in a couple classes – and someone had gotten even _more_ than me?"

"So it wasn't the fact that it was _me_ that beat you?" Hermione clarified. "It was just the fact that you were beaten at all?"

Draco grimaced, but he followed it with a ghost of a smile.

"I was just too blinded by my pride to get over the fact I was in second," he admitted. "If I'd bothered to think about it at all, I would have known in a moment – of course it'd be you."

"Of course?" Hermione's tone was almost playful. "Not Theo? Not Terry? They didn't stand a chance, in your mind?"

Draco rolled his eyes, but the ghost of a smile touched his lips again.

"Of course it'd be you," he said again, more quietly. He looked back up to her. And his silver eyes held hers captive. "It's always you."

Hermione felt something catch in her throat as she looked back at Draco, no one saying a word, just a quiet, trapped silence between them amidst the din of the breakfast hall.

"Well, _I_ got eighth!"

The moment was abruptly broken by Tracey glomming onto Hermione with an excited squeal. Hermione turned to her, surprise, and Tracey's eyes were sparkling with excitement.

"I got eighth!" she said, her excitement was undeniable. "Hermione, I've _never_ been good at school work, and I got _eighth_ in the class!"

Hermione suppressed her first reaction – if _she_ had ever gotten eighth, she'd have been _appalled_ – and gave her a soft grin.

"That's great, Tracey," she told her. "Will your parents be proud?"

"They won't be able to believe it," Tracey answered, giggling slightly. "Me, doing well in school! And it's all because of you!"

Tracey gave Hermione a hug, right there on the bench, and to Hermione's surprise. She hugged her back, a soft smile coming onto her face.

"I'm sure I played less of a role than you think," Hermione said. "You studied hard."

"Oh, bollocks," Tracey said, rolling her eyes, and Hermione's eyes widened at her language. "It was your little secret study group, and you know it. Blaise got sixth, I got eighth, and Millie even managed tenth. _Millie!_ "

"That's rude," Hermione said sharply, at Tracey's tone, but Tracey rolled her eyes.

"You _know_ Millie has trouble studying," Tracey said. "She's never been good at book learning – she's always just planned on breeding kneazles after Hogwarts. _She_ was surprised by it, too."

"Was she surprised that I came in first, too?" Hermione said. Her voice sounded odd – it'd suddenly gone very quiet, not unlike Snape's when he was mad.

"Don't be ridiculous." Tracey gave Hermione a look, and Hermione's heart warmed a little bit. "Anyone who's studied with you wouldn't doubt you coming in first for a moment," she said loudly. "You're brilliant, Hermione."

Hermione flushed and turned away from Tracey, only to catch Blaise giving her a wink, which made her blush all the more.

"So then," Theo said, calculating. "Slytherin got tenth, eighth, sixth, third, second, and first. That's more than half the top spots!"

"Ravenclaw took the other four," Hermione told him.

"That's great, for Slytherin," Theo said. "It puts us in a lead over the other houses."

Millie snorted. "I wouldn't be so sure about that," she said. "Vince and Greg have got to have dragged the average down."

They all glanced down the table and Vince and Greg, who were practicing balancing muffins on top of their forks. They all quickly looked back.

"Still," Theo said. "We have most of the top spots. I think that's pretty great."

"It is," Hermione agreed.

"And props to Granger," Draco said, his eyes gleaming. He raised his glass toward her, as if giving a toast. "To the New Blood showing the rest of us purebloods how it's done. Cheers."

Hermione froze in her seat, her eyes going wide. Draco had never called her a New Blood before.

"Cheers," Blaise agreed, picking up his goblet and shooting Hermione a cheeky smirk.

"Congratulations," Theo said, smirking. "Well done Hermione."

"To Hermione!" Tracey said, jumping in.

"To Hermione," Daphne agreed, picking up her cup as well.

Hermione watched as one by one, all her classmates of her house picked up their goblets and looked at her. Millie had to snap at Vince and Greg to get their attention, but they lifted their goblets as well.

"To Hermione, for leading our den of vipers to snake-y success," Blaise said, grinning.

"May she continue to do so," Theo added, "as we crush the other houses."

"To Hermione," Draco echoed. "Congratulations."

To Hermione's immense surprise, he passed his cup to the right and took Theo's cup from his left and drank deeply, and the others followed suit, each taking a cup from someone else and drinking. Hermione followed their movements automatically, fighting to not make a face as she got someone's over-sweetened tea.

Afterwards, there was a brief scuffle as cups were traded back, and breakfast resumed, but with a lighter, celebratory air amongst the Slytherins as they enjoyed their last meal at Hogwarts for the year. Hermione made a note to look up pureblood traditions regarding toasts later, but it was hard to even worry about not knowing something.

Her classmates had just toasted her for coming in first in the year. They'd publicly declared her the academic leader for their year, and openly toasted to her success.

Hermione couldn't stop beaming as she finished her eggs.

If that didn't feel like acceptance, she didn't know what would.


	65. The Journey Home

Packing after breakfast was a noisy affair, with cries of "where did I put it?" and "has anyone seen my hairbrush?" around the room as the girls searched for all their things. Hermione had largely kept her things together, so packing wasn't difficult – just a matter of putting her things away that she'd taken out.

"You never did say what those were," Tracey said, as Hermione stood on her bed and carefully took down the stone crowns she'd put there.

"They're crowns," Hermione said, and Tracey laughed.

"Yes, but where did you _get_ them?"

Hermione grinned. "Off stone kings."

Packing took little time; what took _more_ time was Hermione slightly panicking and trying to figure out how best to take the _second_ trunk she'd ended up with along with her to the platform. Everyone else had _one_ trunk, and Hermione had only had one trunk for _most_ of the year...

In the end, she put a Muggle lock on it and another luggage tag that clearly read "Hermione's Books – Property of Hermione Granger" and set it next to her normal trunk, labeled "Hermione Granger". Sometimes hiding out in the open was the better option, Hermione thought, biting her lip as she straightened up her bed. It wasn't like she'd be able to sneak a heavy trunk like that onto the train unseen.

Notes were handed out to all students as they left the castle, warning them all not to do magic over the summer, which made Hermione smirk. They were herded into boats, and then Hagrid was sailing them across the lake, and they were boarding the Hogwarts Express, the students talking and laughing as they piled in.

Hermione used subtle levitation charms on her trunks to help get them inside. With all the chaos, no one would know who was doing what, and they'd probably look the other way, regardless.

Hermione settled into a compartment with Tracey, Millie, and Blaise. They played Exploding Snap for a while before Tracey and Millie left to go find Daphne. Blaise was flipping through a book quietly, and Hermione watched the landscape pass by through the window, sinking into her thoughts.

"What're you thinking about?"

Hermione looked up, and Blaise was looking straight at her. He quirked an eyebrow, and Hermione laughed.

"I was-" she started. "Umm-"

"I can see you're scrambling for a lie," Blaise teased. "Don't, Hermione. Just tell me the truth."

His eyes were open and honest, and Hermione bit her lip, feeling a twinge in her heart. Revealing her thoughts would be revealing a weakness, and even with her friends, being vulnerable, especially to another Slytherin, had become hard. Blaise's eyes were unguarded, though, and Hermione sighed.

"I was trying to figure out what was going on with the toast this morning," Hermione admitted.

Blaise gave her a quizzical look.

"Everyone was celebrating you," he told her. "We were proud of you. I thought you'd be pleased."

"I was," Hermione said quickly. "No, I am. It was- it actually meant a lot- but at the toast, everyone started swapping cups-"

Comprehension dawned on Blaise's face.

"And Muggles don't swap cups," he guessed.

"They don't," Hermione confirmed. "They just clink glasses or cups with other people's after the toast, but before they drink. I've never seen people trade cups."

"I doubt that Muggles have much of a _need_ to swap cups," Blaise said, giving her a twisted, wry grin. "Not unless poison is as common in the Muggle world as it is in the wizarding one."

"Oh!" Hermione's hand flew to her mouth, her eyes growing large. "So the cup trading is-"

"If you were planning on poisoning a person, can you imagine a better way to ensure they drink the poison than making a toast?" Blaise asked. "Even if you _knew_ your cup was poisoned, you'd be practically socially shamed into suicide. You can't just _refuse_ a toast. So everybody started swapping glasses."

"So people can't poison each other, because they'd end up poisoning someone random instead?" Hermione guessed.

"Oh, don't get me wrong, people still poison each other," Blaise said, smirking. "But now it's more at private dinners or in secret. There's no poisonings at large, public functions anymore – with the toast glass-swapping, it becomes too dangerous."

"Were there really that many deaths that this became a social convention?" Hermione asked, astonished.

"If you could triumph over your enemy in private, or in a grand, dramatic, and public fashion, which would you choose?" Blaise shot back, and Hermione's mind flashed back to Herbology class: Pansy, tears in her eyes, bleeding in front of everyone, and the terror in her eyes as Hermione whispered a rumor about her blood.

"In public," Hermione said reluctantly, and Blaise grinned at her.

"See?" he said. "We're all the same. So in order to stop the poisonings, wizards started trading cups. This was centuries ago, mind. Not many people now know where the tradition came from, I'd bet."

"But you do?" Hermione asked.

There was a pause, and Blaise gave her a long, measuring look.

"Yeah," he said finally. "My mum taught me."

Hermione looked at him for a long moment, confusion in her eyes. Blaise sighed and looked out the window.

"All I know about your mother is that she's famously beautiful," Hermione ventured. "Daphne has referred to her as 'the epitome of class' and 'the pinnacle of beauty'. And Tracey said she flirts a lot."

Blaise snickered despite himself.

"That's not exactly inaccurate," he said. He gave Hermione an amused look, before his smile subsided.

"My mum," he said finally, "has had seven husbands."

"Seven?" Hermione's eyes grew wide. "That's-"

Her mind caught up with her, reminding her of the context of the conversation, and Hermione cut herself off, giving Blaise an evaluating look.

"I was going to say 'I didn't know polygamy was legal in the wizarding world' before I realized," Hermione said dryly, and Blaise stifled a snort of laughter. Hermione watched him laugh, waiting for his eyes to meet hers again.

"That sort of thing happens in the Muggle world, too," she said, careful to keep her tone even, non-judgemental. "They even have a term for it – a Black Widow. Like the spider."

Blaise looked surprised, then thoughtful.

"A black widow…?" He considered, then snorted. "That… fits rather well, actually."

Hermione just watched him, and Blaise met her eyes again.

"There's a lot of rumors around my mother," Blaise said finally. "That she's cursed, that she did something to her husbands, that other potential lovers arranged 'accidents' for their rivals…"

And Blaise had just mentioned that his mother taught him about the semi-obscure history of an old ritual, with its history steeped in poisoning.

"I understand," Hermione said. She reached over, laying a hand on his for a moment, looking up at him. "Thank you for trusting me with this."

Blaise looked surprised, but then his eyes softened.

"I do," he said, his lips quirked. "I'm not totally sure when that happened, but I _do_ trust you."

Hermione smiled back.

"That's not a bad thing," she teased. "You have to trust _someone."_

"You take that back," Blaise said immediately. "I do _not._ I am not some weak Hufflepuff."

Hermione started laughing, before drawing herself up and trying to appear snobbish.

"Everyone needs at least one person to confide in," Hermione informed him, raising her chin. "You should listen to me – _I_ clearly know best. I'm the top of the class."

They looked at each other for a long moment, both holding snobby looks, before they both started laughing.

"I'm still so glad I got the top," Hermione said, when their laughter had subsided. "I didn't realize at the time, but I really feel like I _proved_ myself to everyone, now. They were so surprised…"

"I knew you'd be the top of the year, Hermione," Blaise told her. "I never doubted it for a second. You're the best witch we've got."

Hermione felt her heart warm at the kindness and honesty in his voice. Blaise's eyes softened as he looked at her, before getting a playful spark in them.

"You're the best-looking girl in our year, too," he continued, his eyes teasing. "Definitely. You'd come in top for that, too."

Hermione snorted.

"You should have stopped when you were ahead," she said, throwing a cushion at him. "I'll take smartest – Lavender Brown can _keep_ best looking, and we'll see which one of us gets further in life."

"Lavender Brown is a primping cow," Blaise dismissed, throwing the cushion back at her. "You're the one with the smile that makes men weak at the knees and the eyes that capture the lights of fairies."

"Stop!" Hermione laughed. "You're ridiculous."

Blaise stopped, as requested, but his eyes gleamed still, making Hermione smirk and roll her eyes as he raked his eyes over her very suggestively, obviously trying to flirt with her further without saying anything more. But Hermione just smiled. For all his ridiculousness, Blaise really was a good friend.

A good friend…

Abruptly, Hermione stood up.

"Going somewhere?" Blaise asked.

Hermione nodded. "I forgot about something. Just have an errand to run."

It wasn't hard to find Harry Potter's compartment; she followed the whispers and the students who paused to stare inside. Harry's adventure with Quirrell was still hot gossip. Rolling her eyes, she knocked briefly before stepping inside.

Harry, Neville, and Ron were in the compartment. Ron was sprawled over one of the seats, snoring with a magazine over his face, while Harry and Neville were both on the other seat, opening chocolate frogs. They froze when she opened the door, but both of them relaxed when they saw it was her.

"I'd ask to take a seat," Hermione said wryly, "but you appear to have run out of them."

Neville blushed and Harry grinned. Hermione tilted her head.

"Harry, can I see you in the corridor?" she said. "I have something for you."

Curious, Harry looked to Neville, who shrugged and nodded, before standing and joining her.

Once in the corridor, Hermione carefully checked both ways before withdrawing Harry's invisibility cloak from her robes. Harry's eyes went wide.

"I had wondered where this went!" he said. "I was worried it'd been lost in the corridor."

Hermione smiled. "I wouldn't have let that happen," she assured him. "Here."

She helped him bundle it under his own robes, in case someone else came by. It made Harry look vaguely pregnant or unusually fat, but it was the best she could do without practically accosting Harry.

"I have something else for you," she told him, handing him a slip of paper. Harry took it and scanned it

"This is… your phone number?" he said. "And your address?"

Hermione offered him a soft smile.

"I remember you saying how wretched your relatives are," she said. "If you ever want to come over, or just want to talk to someone who _knows_ … well. Now you know how to find me."

Harry grinned at her, before rummaging at his pockets.

"Hang on – here." He scrawled his own number on a slip of parchment, giving it to her. "The Dursleys probably won't let me use the phone, but if a call comes in for me, they might let me take it." He paused. "I could give it to Ron and Neville, too, but they might not know how to use a phone."

"I'd recommend against it," she told him seriously. "Just stick to owls with them. Less chance of them angering your family, that way."

Harry nodded, before giving her a big hug, sweeping her off her feet.

"Harry-!"

She laughed, hitting Harry before he put her down. He grinned at her, his green eyes sparkling.

"I never thanked you, Hermione," he told her. His gaze grew serious. "You saved my life, down there in the corridor. You saved us all. Thank you."

His gaze was so honest, so forthright, that Hermione felt herself squirming.

"It was nothing, Harry," she told him honestly. "You're one of my best friends. I couldn't let anything happen to you."

Harry smiled at her, and Hermione smiled back, before giving him another hug.

"Tell Neville good-bye for me in case I don't see him on the platform," Hermione told Harry. "I don't fancy his chance to get past all that candy without knocking it all over the place."

Harry laughed and nodded, wishing her a happy summer before disappearing back into his compartment. Smiling to herself, a job well done, Hermione made her way back down the hall to her own compartment.

The rest of the trip went by in a bit of a blur, and before she knew it, they were pulling into King's Cross Station. A conductor let them through the platform in two's and three's, to not startle the Muggles, and as soon as Hermione was through, she was eagerly scanning the crowd.

"Hermione!"

Hermione turned to see her mother and father waving, making their way through the crowd. Her eyes suddenly wet, Hermione threw herself at her parents.

"I missed you so much," Hermione gasped, hugging them both tightly. "You have no idea."

"Oh, I think we have some idea," her mother murmured, stroking her back. "It was probably somewhere in the realm of how much we were missing you."

"So how were your exams?" her father asked, lifting Hermione's trunks onto a trolley. "Did you do well?"

"Best in the class," Hermione admitted, and her parents beamed at her.

"That's my little girl!" her father laughed, clapping her on the back. "No matter what type of school you go to, you always come out on top."

"Are you ready to go, dear?" her mother asked, and Hermione nodded.

"I have so much to tell you," she told them. "Wait until you hear about what all happened at school…"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Book 2 of New Blood is currently up on FFN, but not yet on Ao3. If you don't want to wait to find the next part of Hermione's journey, check it out over there!


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